Lethal Combination
by olivieblake
Summary: It occurred to Harry that Theo Nott was something of a rarity; a prince among fakes, or a fake among princes. He was definitely also a liar, though Harry didn't know what kind. He figured he was about to find out. Nottpott, modern university AU. COMPLETE.
1. Liars and Fakes

**Lethal Combination**

 _ **Summary:** It occurred to Harry that Theo Nott was something of a rarity; a prince among fakes, or a fake among princes. He was definitely also a liar, though Harry didn't know what kind. He figured he was about to find out. Nottpott, modern university AU._

 _ **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and claim no profit from this work. Credit where credit is due, Joanne Rowling._

 _ **A/N:** This is a one shot that got slightly out of hand. It will update daily until we reach the end. Setting is mostly fictional, though there was considerably more research into blacksmithing than you might think. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Liars and Fakes**

It was already unpleasantly sticky-hot outside, the sweat from Harry's forehead plastering his raven hair to his skin until he finally slicked it back in an inelegant wave, and Dudley wasn't fucking helping.

"I don't get it," he drawled, licking some melting chocolate from his fingers and doing absolutely nothing of use while Harry attempted to shove a few pairs of socks into the pocket of his ratty suitcase. "I thought they gave that fellowship to, you know. Smart people."

"You mean rich people," Harry corrected, straightening momentarily to eye the single suit he'd bought for university interviews four summers ago, back when he'd mistakenly thought he was done growing. It might fit, of course; then again, it also might not, but what was life without a little risk?

"Well, if you're going to be uncouth," Dudley replied, which was a word Harry suspected he'd only just picked up after three years at Smeltings University. "Sure—rich people, then."

Harry shrugged, sniffing at his worn t-shirt. He'd have to shower again today (his third) and it was only barely the afternoon.

"I don't know, Dudley," he said after a minute, tossing his battered copy of _Le Morte D'Arthur_ atop a pile of haphazardly folded dress shirts. "I guess they decided they needed to expand their economic diversity or something."

"Well, Piers is furious," Dudley remarked, referring to one of his bullish friends. "He thought for sure he'd get the Hogwarts fellowship this round." His wry smirk twitched. "Guess he'll just have to do another summer at daddy's firm, eh?"

"Guess so," Harry said, shutting the suitcase and removing his glasses, smudging uselessly at the lens with the bottom of his faded red t-shirt. "Look, this is great and, you know, heartwarming and all, but I'd better shower before your dad decides t-"

"POTTER," trumpeted Vernon. "IF YOU WANT THAT RIDE TO THE STATION, IT'S LEAVING NOW. NOT TEN MINUTES FROM NOW, NOT FIVE MINUTES FROM NOW, BUT RIGHT BLOODY N-"

"I'VE GOT IT, THANKS," yelled Harry, replacing his glasses on his face.

"ARE WE CLEAR? NOT TWO MINUTES FROM NOW—"

"Tough luck, mate," contributed Dudley, though he didn't look particularly sorry.

Harry sighed.

"See you at the end of the summer," he said, staring regretfully at the small pool of sweat at the center of his chest before dragging the suitcase behind him, leaving his cousin to sprawl out on his bed.

* * *

"What poor little rich boy has Daddy picked out for this year's summer of hell?" Draco asked, dropping his Wayfarers to lock eyes with Theo. "Let me guess. Some asinine lit major from Saint Brutus'? Or no, wait, maybe a Classics major from Smeltings—"

"Neither, actually," Theo replied, reaching over to snatch the beer from Draco's hand. "He's trying to make some sort of _statement_ , I think." He paused, taking a long sip. "Picked a history major from Stonewall."

"Stonewall?" Draco echoed skeptically, holding his hand out for his beer. "I thought that was some sort of vocational school."

"Very nearly," Theo replied with a false ring of cheer, taking another long sip before shoving the bottle against Draco's waiting fingers. "So it's a poor little _poor_ boy this time around."

"Fuck," Draco scoffed, employing one of his more patronizing laughs; the one that reeked of wealth, affording him the luxury of mocking humor. "Wish I could stick around to watch this year."

"Well, what is Malfoy and Son Textiles without the Malfoy son?" Theo prompted, grinning, and Draco made a face. "The prince and heir must eventually take the throne, you know."

Draco grunted something like agreement as they stared out at the lake.

"It's hot," Theo commented.

"Barely," Draco said. "There's a breeze off the lake, at least."

"Eh," Theo said.

A long pause.

"What's his name?" Draco asked, taking another swig from the bottle. "Your father's new academic servant."

Theo grimaced. "Harry," he said. " _Potter_ , if you can believe that."

"Henry, then?"

"Nope," Theo said distastefully. "Just the diminutive. _Harry_."

"Wow," Draco muttered. "He'll get eaten alive, won't he?"

"Oh, certainly," Theo agreed. "In fact, I expect you'll do half the eating during one of your inevitable visits."

"Usual summer at the Shack, then? Only slightly more intermittent, I suppose."

"Oh, indubitably. Are we men of tradition or not?"

"Well, we certainly aren't men of scruples."

"Jesus was, and that didn't go well at all."

"Too true."

Another long pause.

"Well," Draco said, getting to his feet. "Take this. My dad'll kill me if I show up buzzed."

"Whereas my dad," Theo agreed, accepting the bottle, "will fail to notice me entirely. Wonder which of us has it worse?"

"Me," Draco said, just as Theo confirmed, " _You_."

"Well," Draco determined, straightening his blazer. "See you in a couple weeks, then, Nott."

Theo toasted him from afar.

"See you," he said, waiting only until just after Draco had gone before he drained the bottle.

* * *

Hogwarts was a castle.

A fucking _castle_ , unlike Stonewall's institutional buildings, and it was situated on a beautiful lake that made Harry feel dwarfed and insignificant in a single glance.

"Obviously most of the students are gone for the summer," explained Professor Theodore Nott, gesturing for Harry to follow him through the castle's labyrinthine corridors. "You'll be staying in one of the dorm rooms in Gryffindor Tower. Meals are served promptly, so please be on time. Only a limited amount of staff is on hand during the summers. I will also expect you to be in my office first thing in the morning, so that I can instruct you as to my expectations for the day. Are we clear?" he prompted, and Harry blinked, realizing that for the first time in several minutes, he was required to answer.

"Oh, I—yes, of course," Harry managed. "And Professor Nott, I really have to thank you one more time f-"

"Ah, I see your ingenue gets the good room," a dry voice interrupted, the sound of it crackling with the makings of a fight. "Aren't you going to introduce me, Father?"

Harry watched Professor Nott's mouth stiffen.

"Mr Potter, this is my son," he explained gruffly, turning to gesture to someone standing in the doorframe. "Theodore Junior."

"I prefer Theo," the young man said, ducking his head slightly as he entered the room. He was tall and exquisitely dressed, wearing a stiff white shirt that even Harry could tell was worth more than everything in his suitcase combined, and a set of slacks so neatly pressed they must have been newly ironed. "You must be the new font of academia?"

Harry blinked, catching undertones of mockery. Dudley had tried to learn that particular art from his wealthier friends, but it seemed to come more naturally when one was born with a trust fund.

"Harry, yes," he supplied. "Theo, you said?"

"So as not to be confused with my preeminent lineage," Theo confirmed smugly, offering his father an irreverent wink. "You are of course welcome to call me Theodore the Lesser, should that strike your interest—"

"Theodore," Professor Nott said, his voice clipped. "Don't you have some work to attend to?"

"Strangely, no," Theo replied. Harry watched him turn his combatant stance on his father, folding his arms over his chest and half-beckoning for an argument. "But, of course, if you'd like me to leave, all you have to do is—"

"Theodore," Professor Nott said again, without elaboration this time.

Theo bristled, and in a moment of genuine frustration, Harry watched a layer of falsehood fall away, revealing something intriguingly darkened underneath.

"As you wish," he said tightly, and locked eyes with Harry.

Harry blinked.

"Bye, then," Theo said, and turned abruptly, disappearing from sight.

* * *

His t-shirt had holes at the hem. Small holes; holes of use, of constant wear, like from repeated exposure to a substandard washer or dryer or something else Theo had never had to deal with. His hair was messy and oily, a bit slicked with sweat, and his glasses were so smudged Theo wondered how it were possible for him to see through them. He was skinny and loping and slouched, and half of Theo wanted to yank him up by the top of his spine and attach him to the ceiling, just to make him look less like he were trying to fold himself in half.

 _Harry, yes._

He'd said his own name like he wished he could take it back. Like he wanted to apologize for even existing.

 _how's prof nott's new servant?_ Draco texted, the buzz of it going off in Theo's pocket.

Theo paused for moment, considering how to answer.

The t-shirt had holes and his shoes were dirty and his jeans were ill-fitted and who wore jeans, anyway, to something like this?

 _poor af,_ Theo said back.

Another buzz.

 _lol,_ said Draco.

* * *

The first week was mostly unremarkable. Every morning, Harry rose early, around six in the morning, and crept out of the castle for a run by the lake, rejoicing in the cooler air that came from a waterfront location. Then he returned, showered, and came downstairs for breakfast by 7:30, selecting a bit of toast and eggs from a small spread that seemed to be left out by an invisible staff, or elves.

If he'd felt small before, it was impossible not to feel that way now. He woke up every morning in a bedroom meant for five, showering in a bathroom meant to hold at least three times as many, and he took his breakfast alone in something called the Great Hall, which was the size of Stonewall's main auditorium.

By nine in the morning he headed to Professor Nott's office, which was another relatively grand room in a procession of grand rooms. There, the professor would look up from a book—or a handwritten manuscript, depending—and he would point to a chalkboard behind him, which would list Harry's tasks for the day. _Find sources for x_ , or _arrange statistics for y_ , all of which were the methodical details involved in his latest book, which was ostensibly a study of ancient British monarchies and their influences on mythology.

That was Harry's specialty, anyway. That was why he'd come; not that his intellect was ever a matter of discussion.

There was little to no speaking involved. Professor Nott said nothing, and Harry encountered few other people. From time to time he'd run into some other staff member—the librarian, for one thing, though she seemed intent on shushing him even when no other audience was present—but mostly it was Harry alone with his books.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

 _so how is it,_ said Dudley.

 _fine,_ replied Harry. _quiet, but I'm getting a lot of work done._

 _fuckin lame,_ Dudley contributed sagely.

* * *

"Quit hiding in your dad's castle," Daphne said. "Come out tonight."

"And do what?" Theo drawled into the phone, eyeing a stray thread on his trousers. "Get shit-faced and make a mockery of my family name?"

He could practically hear her shrug through the phone. "Well, yeah. Isn't that exactly wh- hold on, Pans is here." A slight fade as she turned her head. "What? Pansy. Pans, fucking—slow down. Yes, I hate that road, but—hm? Oh, Theo. No, I'm not blowing him over the phone. How would I even—yes, I know. What? No. Well, okay. Okay, fine. No, no coke. I said _no coke,_ Pans, just get—yeah, fine. Fine. Okay. No, I haven't, but I would if you would just—yes okay, sorry, Theo you still there?"

He blinked.

"What?"

"Sorry, Pansy came home with Molly."

"Who's Molly?"

"Not a person, Nott. Come on."

"Oh. Right."

"Hold on, Pansy wants to talk to you." A brief moment of transfer. "Nott, it's Pansy. You in?"

He thought about it. "Tonight?"

"No, Nott, right now. For breakfast." Pansy's saccharine voice dripped sarcasm.

"Fine. Ten?"

"Make it eleven, at the Shack. No, eight."

"What?"

"Eight. I have a meeting tomorrow with one of my mum's campaign donors so let's keep our debauchery to something of a minimum. Or, you know. Increase the likelihood of me getting some sleep, at least."

"You could just not do drugs, Parkinson. That is technically an option."

"In a mood, are you?"

"I'm just saying."

"Well, stop it. I've got one more summer of deviance before I have to trade in my stilettos for some orthopedic bullshit my mother would call 'sensible,' and I'm not going to waste it binging every season of _House_."

"Again?"

"Exactly. So, eight?"

"Sure. Fine."

"Want to bring your dad's new research assistant?"

Theo blinked.

"No."

"Eh, fair enough. See you tonight."

A click, and then she was gone.

Theo stared up at the dark green upholstered canopy above his bed.

What to do for the next nine hours?

He thought about the smudges on Harry's glasses.

Then he rolled over and went back to sleep.

* * *

At approximately 6:56 on day nine, Harry ran into Theo, who was stumbling home from somewhere further down the lake.

"Hey," Harry said, slowing down, and Theo gave him a smudgy sort of blink that indicated the very sound of Harry's breathing was giving him a headache.

"Fuck," Theo grumbled in greeting, raising a hand to his temple. "Are you—what are you doing?"

"I'm—" Harry paused, wondering if it were possible to not be able to tell. "I'm running."

"I see that," Theo snapped. "I meant _why_ , asshole, are you fucking _running_."

"I—" Harry stopped again. "I don't like to sit still. Also, I need to get out of there," he added, gesturing behind him to where the castle loomed.

Theo blinked, following the gesture.

"Relatable," he muttered, and then squinted at Harry again. "Why'd you want this?"

"Want what?"

"This job. Fellowship. Whatever."

"It's a great opportunity."

"Shut _the fuck_ up," Theo said, and Harry blinked again.

"Sorry, I didn't—"

"Why'd you really do it? Don't lie. I fucking hate liars," Theo said. "I hate liars and fakes."

Privately, Harry thought that was ironic. He'd seen a lot of liars and a lot of fakes, and most of them had looked an awful lot like Theo Nott.

Though they hadn't been nearly as surprising.

"I like magic," Harry said. "Sometimes I think it's real. That it's—you know. Around here. Anywhere. Everywhere." He flapped a hand. "That's obviously not something to base a career on, but academia is pretty close. These books, you know?" he prompted, and though he wasn't really referring to anything that made sense, Theo nodded. "Sometimes I'll read a myth and read something from history and think: obviously something happened here."

"Myths like what?" Theo asked. "Like… the Loch Ness monster or some shit?"

"No, like—like, you know." Harry cleared his throat. "Excalibur, right? And, I don't know, fairies. Ladies in lakes. Shit nobody understands. Why does it all happen in the same place? Can't be a coincidence."

He knew he wasn't making sense, and yet Theo was nodding like he was.

Then again, he'd have bet money that Theo was on drugs.

"That's totally insane," Theo said. "That's, fucking—that's excellent." He let out a bark of a laugh. "Don't _ever_ tell my dad, mate. He'll throw you out on your face."

"Right. Yeah," Harry agreed, coughing. "Obviously. It's mad."

"Well, it's objectively ill-advised," Theo said. "But it's not mad. Mad is—" he waved a hand, gesturing unspecifically to himself. "I don't know, man. But I know madness, and you wanting to believe magic is real isn't it. Sucks, though," he added, gesturing around. "You won't find it here. You won't find anything here."

Theo's mouth tightened, then, and it gave him a slightly stony look of permanence. It was the face of someone who could not be moved, even though Harry could have sworn he just had been.

"I've never told anyone that before," Harry admitted after a moment.

Theo gave him a strange, lingering look.

"Yeah, well, definitely don't tell anyone else," he remarked flatly, and then he stumbled off, leaving one of his shoes behind as Harry watched him go.

* * *

 _change of plans,_ Draco said in a text. _am losing my mind out here. my dad? ? is?! such a fucker? anyway i'm coming down tomorrow. already told parkinson._

Theo scrubbed at his eyes, struggling to sit up.

 _lucius is a monstrous dick,_ he typed, and watched Draco's text bubble pulse momentarily before another message came through.

 _he said, unhelpfully. I know that, dickhead. you in or what_

Theo looked up at the sound of a loud knock, frowning.

"Do not disturb," he yelled.

A moment of pause.

"You left your shoe," came a low voice.

Theo stumbled to his feet, wrenching the door open to find himself face-to-face with Harry, who was indeed holding his shoe.

"What?" Theo asked, even though he could see perfectly well what was what. It was one of the things his father hated most about him.

Along with everything else.

"You left your shoe," Harry said again. "Some guy—Filch, I think? He told me this was your room."

"Filch is a basket of cunts," Theo remarked.

"He's not great," Harry agreed, holding the shoe out for him.

Theo took it.

Considered it for a moment.

"How poor are you?" he asked Harry, who stiffened.

"Very," Harry replied wryly. "Distressingly."

"Huh." Theo chewed his lip. "Want to come to a party tomorrow night? It'll be shitty," he added. "It'll be a fucking mess full of rich assholes and their bitchy girlfriends, but there'll be alcohol and it's at this place we call the Shack. Well, the Shrieking Shack. We party there sometimes because local cops don't give a shit. Anyway, it'll be horrible and you'll wish you were dead the entire time. Want to come?"

Harry looked momentarily unsteadied.

"With you?" he asked, and Theo shrugged.

"I'm going," he said. "You can come."

"Oh," Harry said. "Okay."

"Don't wear any of your t-shirts," Theo warned. "My friend will think it's hilarious, and not in a good way. I'll, um—" he waved a hand. "I'll get you something. Don't worry about it."

Harry's expression darkened. "I'm not a charity case."

"Well, you're not fucking wearing that," Theo said bluntly. "Give it back when you're done if you want, I don't care. Just don't show up in anything with holes."

Harry flinched.

Theo didn't move.

"You said I'll wish I were dead?" Harry asked thoughtfully.

"Definitely," Theo confirmed. "From the fucking moment you walk in."

Harry nodded.

"Okay," he said, and then he turned away, ambling back down the dungeon's corridors.

* * *

The next day, Harry found a grainy chambray shirt on his bed next to a pair of slim black jeans. They were artfully worn—unlike his own jeans, which were _un_ -artfully worn—and the tags had been left on, though the prices were removed.

He raised the shirt to his cheek. It was impossibly soft, and something fully impractical to own, because if he'd been at home, he would have just sweat right through it. On the floor, a pair of casual loafers were sitting beneath a note that said _I know you're not a charity case. Just put them on. I'll come get you at ten. -TN_

Theo Nott's handwriting was immensely different from his father's. While Professor Nott gave into a tendency for elaborate loops and scripted flourishes, Theo's handwriting was spindly and scrawled, and the ink was smudged in the way that ink is always smudged when things were written by left-handed people.

It occurred to Harry that perhaps Theo Nott was something of a rarity.

A prince among fakes, or a fake among princes.

He was definitely also a liar, though Harry didn't know what kind.

He figured he was about to find out.

* * *

"This is Draco," Theo said, gesturing. "Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter."

The two shook hands, though Theo could see Draco's gaze traveling distastefully over the way Harry's shirt had been hastily shoved up his arms. Draco, on the other hand, was wearing one of his custom white t-shirts, which was mostly notable in that it was impossibly clean.

"Malfoy," Harry echoed. "As in the clothing company?"

Draco's grey eyes went wary. "Textiles, actually."

"Right, sorry," Harry said. "And you, um. You go to Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Draco said, and then, much to Theo's discomfort, added, "And where do you go to school again?"

"Stonewall," Harry replied.

Theo watched Daphne and Pansy exchange a face of dismay in the same moment that a spark of triumph lit Draco's expression, returning him to solid, superior footing.

"Interesting," Draco said, in a voice that indicated he didn't find it interesting at all. "And you're here because—"

"Here," Theo cut in, picking up a drink and shoving it in Harry's hand. "Drink this. It will make the unbearable slightly more—"

"Bearable?" Harry guessed, taking a sip. "Balls, that is _strong_ —"

"Drink it," Theo said, and glared at Draco, who shrugged. "Stay here," Theo added to Harry, who made a face as he took another tentative sip. "Drink it," he repeated, grabbing Draco's arm and pulling him aside.

"Hey, lay off, would y-"

"Don't be a dick," Theo hissed. "He's not that bad, okay? He's—I don't know. Going to get fucking _steamrolled_ by my dad, one way or another. Just let him have this, okay?"

Draco arched a brow. "And what, pray tell, is 'this'?"

"Just—a night. I don't know." Theo looked up, groaning. "You brought Crabbe and Goyle?"

"They come with the best weed, Nott. Of course I brought them."

"Fine, just—keep them away from Harry, okay?"

Draco gave him a look.

"Don't," Theo warned.

"You hate people," Draco reminded him.

"I fucking know that, which is why I'm displeased you brought your two stooges along—"

"It's a party, Theo. You know, where people come? And party?"

"I get it, Lord Malfoy. Have your court, then."

"Keep an eye on your little project," Draco advised, his gaze traveling warily to Harry. "He doesn't look like he gets out much. Or like he can handle his liquor."

" _You_ can't handle your liquor, you fuck."

At that, Draco permitted a sharpened laugh. "None of us can. That's why we're here. I'm just saying, keep an eye on him."

Theo's gaze strayed to Harry, who was looking immensely uncomfortable by what was almost certainly an invitation to a threesome with Pansy and Daphne.

"Yeah, fine," Theo said. "I'll watch him."

* * *

Harry was drunk.

Harry was gloriously, spectacularly, transcendently _sloshed_ , and he wasn't upset about it. He normally didn't care for the feeling that his limbs could very well float out from beneath him, but in this case, he felt it was right. He felt it was proper, in fact. He was wearing clothes that had been picked out for him by some rich prick who was the son of another rich prick who didn't seem to trust Harry to think for himself, and you know what? It was fine. It was perfectly _fine_ , and Harry ignored the passive-aggressive indications of mockery from Dudley that persistently buzzed in his pocket in favor of drinking more.

"The thing is," he announced, "people believe in magic, right? They just call it superstition, or karma. But it's all basically the same thing, isn't it? We don't know what to call it. We don't know what it is. But if you really think about it—"

A hand closed around the back of his neck.

"I told you not to tell other people about that," he heard Theo's voice say in his ear, and then the scenery changed well before Harry noticed that Theo had led him outside, the abrupt shift from too-hot inside to biting-cold outside prompting his head to spin. "You sound totally fucking insane, Potter."

"I am," Harry said deliriously, and then, to the sound of Drake indicating his wish to rule out commitment, he promptly doubled over, throwing up on the ground outside the Shack.

Theo's hands shifted, his palms pressed against Harry's shoulders until Harry was finished.

"So," Theo said. "I take it you don't drink much."

Harry wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Not exactly," he said, and turned to find Theo with a wry smirk on his face.

"Magical," Theo said with a wink, and gestured for Harry to follow, leading him into the woods beside the shack.

"Are you going to murder me?" Harry asked, stumbling over a tree branch. He felt Theo's hand beneath his elbow, propping him upright before nudging him forward.

"Not yet," Theo said. "Though I like to keep an air of mystery, so I won't rule it out."

"Are you—who are you?" Harry asked him, abruptly tiring of walking and letting his knees collapse beneath him, dragging Theo down with him. "I mean. I know who you are, but like." He paused, squinting at Theo. " _What_ are you?"

"Uncomfortable with labels," Theo drawled.

"You're a rich asshole," Harry said. "Right?"

Theo took a flask out of his jacket, nodding. "Right."

"Have you ever had to work at anything?"

"Nope," Theo said. "Never."

"Ever had a job?"

"Nope."

"Ever, like, _cared_ about anything?"

"Nope."

Harry gestured towards the Shack. "Are these people even really your friends?"

Theo considered it. "Nope," he said, and handed the flask to Harry, who let out a sigh and took a sip, suffering another poorly managed burn of something that was smoky and unpleasant, but which tasted the way he imagined Theo Nott might taste.

Not that _that_ was anything he needed to prove.

It just seemed like a very, very high likelihood of similarity.

"I basically hate everyone," Theo said, "and mostly everyone hates me. But I'm rich, so they know I'm not taking advantage of them, and I'm mostly dispassionate about everything, so they never have to be vulnerable." He took the flask back from Harry. "Actually, most of my best friends are my worst enemies."

"Draco?" Harry asked.

Theo shook his head. "He's mostly alright, actually. Mostly. Surprisingly. Everyone else, though." He shrugged. "They're mostly the worst."

Harry turned to him. "Do you always befriend the people who work for your dad?"

Theo scoffed. "No. Mostly they're just rich pricks from other schools. He has Hogwarts research assistants during the year, but he likes to give away this so-called 'fellowship' out of, I don't know. A love of exclusionary principles."

"You don't like him," Harry noted.

"No, I don't, and he doesn't like me." Theo took an angry swig from his flask. "He prefers his books to me. Probably would never let me touch them, either. But he's got money, so—" he shrugged. "He can pay to put distance between us, even when we live in the same goddamn castle."

Harry let out a breath, permitting the statement to settle.

"What's your plan?" he asked eventually.

"What plan?"

"Your plan for revenge," Harry said simply. "You seem like the kind of person who could really get into a long-term vengeance plot."

Theo blinked.

"Fuck," he remarked, which Harry was beginning to learn was something he said when he was impressed. "I don't have one yet."

"Could make one," Harry suggested, leaning his head back against a tree. "Got time."

"Yeah." Theo turned to him. "What's your plan, then?"

Harry managed something he hoped was a shrug. "Succeed," he said. "Be smarter. Work harder. Get out and never look back." Another pseudo-shrug. "Find magic in some ancient text and use it to curse everyone else to the bottom of the sea."

Theo stared at him.

"I like it," Theo said.

Harry blinked at him, and then reached out.

He touched his thumb to the bone of Theo's cheek, pressing down lightly.

"Want to do something stupid?" Harry asked.

Theo swallowed. "Depends."

"Huh." Harry let his thumb fall, tracing the shadow of Theo's cheek, and then slid it lower, running it across the bow of Theo's lips. "Depends on what?"

A sharp inhale. "How stupid a thing it is."

"The stupidest," Harry said.

Theo stared at him.

"Me," Harry clarified. "Me. I'm the stupid thing."

"I'm not—" Theo swallowed. "I, um. I haven't—"

"Look at that," Harry said, chuckling, and Theo frowned.

"Look at what?"

"You," Harry said. "You're flustered. I flustered you."

"I—well, I'm just saying—"

"You're stammering," Harry said with satisfaction, letting his eyes fall shut. "It's cute."

"I'm not _cute_ ," Theo growled, and Harry laughed again.

"No, you aren't," he agreed. "But you're nervous."

"I'm not _nervous_ , that's—"

"You are," Harry said, opening one eye to spare him another look of humor. "I made you nervous."

"I'm _not_ —"

"Don't worry," Harry said with a yawn. "I won't, you know. Make you, or anything. I've only, um. Only a couple of times with a—you know. I'm just—" he closed his eyes again. "Drunk. Stupid. Lonely, et cetera."

He heard Theo inhale sharply.

"Lonely," Theo echoed.

"Mm," Harry said.

Then he turned his head, throwing up onto the ground beside him.

* * *

When Harry finally stirred—some time around seven in the morning, which was an ungodly hour, no matter what anyone said—Theo was still awake. He hadn't been able to sleep, obviously, not simply because carrying Harry back up to Gryffindor tower was an extremely challenging activity, but also because Harry had said things that did not seem to want to leave Theo's mind.

Instead they floated around, aimless.

"Oh _god_ ," Harry muttered, rubbing at his eyes and attempting to sit up. "What _happened_ —"

"Water," Theo said, gesturing to the nightstand. "And Advil."

Harry gave him a squinty look of gratitude. "Thanks." He reached over slowly, one hand pressed to his temple. "Jesus, where's my—"

"Glasses are on the nightstand. Phone's next to it," Theo said, pointing to where he'd plugged it in. "You have about thirty texts from someone named Dudley."

"My cousin," Harry offered in explanation. "I'm mostly a receptacle for his random thoughts. It can wait." He winced, taking a careful sip of water. "Sorry if I ruined your night," he added, with a hint of what Theo suspected was a genuine apology.

"You didn't," Theo assured him. "You were—"

 _Intriguing._

"Fine," he said eventually, as Harry stumbled to his feet. "Where are you going?"

"Bathroom," Harry said, gesturing to his mouth. "Have to—brush my teeth. Or something."

"Or something," Theo agreed with a nod, watching him go and immediately staring down at his hands, forcefully wrenching them together.

He should just go back to his room, he reminded himself. There was no reason for him to still be here. At first it had seemed reasonable to stay, because it wasn't like he was sober himself and the dungeons were really fucking far away. Besides, if Harry had died or something, his dad would have been distinctly displeased. Obviously, though, his obligations were at an end, and though it was _very_ fascinating being in the room where Harry slept and where he seemed to keep his handful of earthly possessions, Theo did not technically need to be there anymore.

Harry resurfaced in the doorway.

"Sorry," he said.

Theo blinked. "About what?"

Harry winced. "Just. I don't know. I'd like to be friends," he explained, and Theo frowned.

"Friends?"

"Yeah." Harry shrugged. "I mean, it's not like I have a lot of options, and—I don't know." He cleared his throat. "I just don't really want to fuck that up. There's a lot of summer left, and I know I was—" he trailed off again. "Out of line."

Theo sat up, contemplating the offering.

"I'm not good at this," he said eventually, gesturing between them. "Being human. Being—normal." A pause. "I have a hard time translating what I think into something other people understand."

"Yeah, I can fucking see that," Harry said wryly. "Makes sense."

"But," Theo attempted, taking a breath. "I, um." He considered how best to phrase it. "I like the way your mind works," he said slowly. "I think it's—interesting. I think you're interesting. And I think—" Another pause.

Harry leaned against the doorframe, waiting.

"You make me nervous," Theo admitted at a growl, already displeased by his own regrettable honesty.

Harry didn't move.

Theo rose to his feet, stepping towards him.

"Also, you were really drunk last night," he said dazedly, and Harry lifted a brow.

"Is this supposed to be some sort of chivalry?" Harry asked, and Theo shook his head, stopping just short of reaching him.

"No, I just—it didn't seem like—"

He broke off when Harry stepped forward, his attention lingering momentarily on the line of Theo's neck.

"Well," Harry remarked, his green eyes darting up to Theo's. "When you decide, let me know."


	2. That First Crash Hurts

**Chapter 2: That First Crash Hurts**

When another four days went by without hearing from Theo, Harry assumed that would be the case for at least the rest of the week.

 _still can't believe u went to a party,_ Dudley said. _that's so dead poet society of u._

 _that doesn't even make sense,_ Harry replied.

 _¯\\_(_ _ツ_ _)_/¯_ , said Dudley.

"Tsk, tsk," came Theo's voice, startling Harry into dropping his phone on the floor. "No phones, Potter. This is a library. A storied institution."

"SHHH," said Madam Pince, prompting Theo to roll his eyes.

"What's her deal?" he half-heartedly whispered, falling into the seat across from Harry. "Did she not notice you're the only person in here?"

Harry shrugged. "Something like that."

"Fair enough. So," Theo tossed out carelessly. "Listen, I was think-"

"SHHHHH," Madam Pince said again, and Theo groaned.

" _Fine_ ," he muttered, glaring over his shoulder at her before turning back to Harry. "Come find me when you're done, then."

"Great Hall?" Harry asked, and Theo shook his head.

"I take dinner in my room. In the dungeons," he added, smirking. "If you forget where it is, ask Filch again."

"No thanks," Harry grumbled, and when Madam Pince's eyes threatened to extend out from her head, he grimaced. _Later_ , he mouthed to Theo, who shrugged, rising to his feet and strutting towards the exit.

"Later, Irma," Theo offered, blowing her a kiss.

Madam Pince gave him a ferociously stern scowl. "Mr Nott, I've told your father a thousand times that you aren't permitted t-"

"Mm, yes, of course you have," Theo said loudly, slamming the doors open and passing through them without another glance.

Harry looked down at his book, sighing inwardly.

 _Catalogue all references to potable water in Middle English,_ Professor Nott's notes had said, which was of course hardly anything worth doing. Certainly not anything as interesting as the slender-limbed, sharp-eyed man who'd just left, at the very least.

Then again, Harry thought, very few things were.

* * *

 _ **draco 'daddy's boy' malfoy:**_ _in town this weekend, thought we could do a day thing. you know, grab a gin bucket and some pool floaties and wreak havoc on the lake._

 _ **draco 'daddy's boy' malfoy:**_ _also who tf changed my name_

 _ **daphne 'tits wild' greengrass:**_ _yes, draco, astoundingly we're familiar with the concept of a Day Thing, thanks for mansplaining_

 _ **pansy is innocent of all things:**_ _it's been like five hundred years since we did a gin bucket lollllll someone's gonna have to hold my hair_

 _ **draco 'daddy's boy' malfoy:**_ _not it_

 _ **pansy is innocent of all things:**_ _rude_

 _ **daphne 'tits wild' greengrass:**_ _pans i'll hold your hair if you hold mine_

 _ **pansy is innocent of all things:**_ _ok deal_

 _ **HELLA BLAISED:**_ _is this little soiree clothing optional or what_

 _ **daphne 'tits wild' greengrass:**_ _OBVIOUSLY_

 _ **pansy's a name changing slutbag:**_ _fucking christ zabini what is this your first day_

 _ **pansy's a name changing slutbag:**_ _oh come on draco wtf, yours wasn't even that bad you gigantic pussy_

 _ **draco IS NOT A DADDY'S BOY malfoy:**_ _hey nott, you in or what_

 _ **theo ain't shit:**_ _i'm always in, aren't i?_

* * *

"What," Harry ventured slowly, "is a gin bucket?"

(This being a thing he said after "here's your clothes back" and "what do you mean they're mine" and "why on earth would I wear them again?")

"It's a bunch of gin," Theo replied, gesturing for Harry to enter his dorm room, "which is served, obviously, in a bucket. With lemons and limes and shit."

"Oh," Harry said, stepping inside. "And you want me to come to this… gin bucket extravaganza? Even after I—" he cleared his throat. "Even after last time?"

"Well, you have to get your tolerance up somehow," Theo sniffed, reaching into a shopping bag and tossing Harry a grey t-shirt. "Here. Take that. I'm not totally sold on the fit."

"I really don't want t-"

Harry stopped, frowning as he caught sight of an easel tucked into the corner.

"What's that?" he asked, gesturing, and Theo turned.

"A painting," Theo supplied drily. "Called _Starry Night_? Sort of famous."

"I know it's Van Gogh," Harry said, groaning. "I meant—" he took a step towards it. "Why's it on this easel?"

"Because I painted it yesterday," Theo replied, "and it isn't totally done." He squinted at it, shaking his head. "Yeah, no. Not quite."

"You painted that?" Harry asked, blinking. "Are you an art major?"

"What? No," Theo said flatly. "Are you kidding? My father would never allow it. No, I'm—finance, I think? Sure," he said with a shrug. "Finance. Not that I've taken a single finance class."

"What classes do you take, then?" Harry asked, glancing back from where he'd been eyeing the painting. To his knowledge (which was, admittedly, not as informed as it might have been) it had no noticeable differences from the original.

"Art history," Theo replied. "Literature. Classics. Dicked around in calligraphy for a semester," he added, waving a hand to what Harry realized was not, in fact, a framed print of Magna Carta, but merely a very convincing forgery of it. "I'm expected to be able to throw out 'finance' at a dinner party, obviously, but nobody's ever quizzed me on any requisite knowledge of Excel—which is what I assume the entire thing is."

This, like many things Theo said, struck Harry as extremely unreasonable. "Your father is a literature professor who specializes in antiquity," he commented emphatically. "Surely he wouldn't be too upset if he knew what your interests actually were, would he?"

"Well, what fun would that be?" Theo scoffed. "And anyway, don't try to distract me. Tomorrow. Gin bucket." A shrug. "Debauchery and misdeeds. You're coming."

"Why?"

Theo rolled his eyes. "You wanted to be friends, didn't you? This is what my friends do."

"You said you hated your friends," Harry reminded him.

Theo sighed, apparently exasperated. "Are you coming or not?"

Harry considered it.

"Fine," he relented. "Fine, I guess I am."

* * *

"I see you brought along your summer homework," Draco noted, lowering his aviators to give Harry an unpleasant scan from afar. "Professor making you do community service or something?"

"Oh, _hilarious_ ," Theo drawled, scooping some gin out of the bucket and sampling it, determining it satisfactory. "He's just—I don't know. I feel bad for him." He shrugged. "You know how shitty that job can be."

"No, actually, I don't," Draco replied, "seeing as I would never deign to accept such a task, but fine. Hey, Zabini," he called, nodding to Blaise as he approached. "Glad you could make it an entire hour and half late."

"Yeah, yeah. Who's that?" Blaise asked, gesturing over his shoulder to Harry. "Kind of hot, right? In a scruffy, abandoned puppy sort of way."

"I don't swing that way," Draco reminded him. "Don't know if _he_ does, either," he remarked drily, gesturing to where Pansy was lasciviously stroking Harry's bicep, "but I suppose you've turned people before. He's Daddy Nott's bitch for the summer," Draco added in lazy explanation, as if he might have just as easily forgotten, and Theo said nothing, sipping quietly at his gin.

"Saint Brutus'?" Blaise guessed, and then frowned. "No, never mind. Smeltings, maybe?"

"Stonewall," Theo supplied, suddenly irritable for reasons he couldn't yet determine, and Blaise's eyes lit up.

"Stonewall," he echoed with a low growl of delight, giving Harry another long, wolfish once-over. " _Nice_ ," Blaise determined, tossing Theo and Draco a wink before striding confidently towards Harry and Pansy.

"God, that shameless bastard," Draco remarked approvingly, shaking his head before catching sight of someone in the crowd. "Oh, good, Crabbe's here. Could use a joint. You want?"

"No," Theo said, shaking his head as he watched Blaise playfully rest his hand on Harry's chest. "No, I'm—I'm good."

Draco shrugged. "Suit yourself," he determined briskly, leaving Theo to watch Harry give Blaise a pleasant smile, nodding as the other man spoke.

Theo wondered what they were talking about.

Probably something stupid.

Probably _magic_ , actually, which served to inflame something somewhere near Theo's tonsils.

He downed the rest of his gin, scowling, and took off towards Harry.

"—and I was like honestly, Madam Chairman," Blaise drawled, "you've done fine enough work on social justice but still, everyone with taste knows Chardonnay is only acceptable for women over forty—"

"Come on," Theo growled, grabbing Harry by the arm and yanking him towards the lake. "You swim, don't you, Potter?"

"You're drunk already," Harry noted, idly permitting himself to be dragged. "I've been trying to pace myself, seeing as it's two in the aftern-"

"Yeah, well, good for you," Theo muttered, stripping off his t-shirt and throwing his sunglasses in a pile after them. "You wearing swim trunks?" he asked sharply, glaring over his shoulder.

"No," Harry said, looking vaguely amused. "You didn't tell me I'd need them."

"It's a fucking _lake_ , Potter," Theo said furiously, gesturing to it. "What did you think that meant?"

Harry shrugged. "I have boxers on."

"Fine. That's—" Theo blinked. "I'll get in mine, too," he determined gruffly, stripping off his shorts and turning to the water. He glanced over his shoulder, checking if anyone had followed, but only caught a glimpse of Harry's curious expression, waiting expectantly.

"Well?" Harry asked, having stripped his t-shirt from his chest and stepped easily out of his jeans.

Theo eyed the lines of Harry's torso and the way his abs cut down into slim crevices on either side of his hips and wondered if he were going mad, or if this particular gin bucket had simply been filled with hallucinogens and pharmaceuticals. Neither was really out of the question.

"Hold your breath," Theo advised gruffly. "That first crash hurts."

Then he jumped into the water.

* * *

Harry waited until Theo was comfortably treading water before swimming over to him. He paused when they faced each other, bobbing mutely on the listless waves and coughing lake water out of the sides of their mouths.

"I'm not interested in that Blaise guy," Harry offered neutrally, after an uncomfortable period of silence. "Or your friends Pansy and Daphne, either."

"Don't care," Theo said, and that's when Harry knew for sure he was a liar.

A forger. A fake.

But that no longer seemed like a bad thing.

"Tell me more about magic," Theo ventured quietly, his voice just audible over the sound of water and their semi-labored breathing, arms swaying back and forth. "Or, I don't know. Myths. I don't care."

Harry thought about it.

"There's a bit in _Le Morte D'Arthur_ where Merlin tells Arthur he should get rid of every newborn baby boy in his kingdom," Harry said. "Sort of like King Herrod and Moses, you know? Anyway, Arthur puts them all in a boat and sends them away." He paused, floating for a moment. "They all die except one."

"Which one?" Theo asked.

"Mordred. Arthur's son." Harry cleared his throat, spitting some recalcitrant lake water back from whence it came. "He later kills his father."

Theo blinked. "Well, I love a good patricide."

"I thought you might," Harry permitted blithely. "But anyway, the point is that magic and fear and love and betrayal all exist in the same sphere. They're all equally real, equally powerful. In all the accounts, anyway." He paused again. "Anyway, Mordred isn't Arthur's son in any of the Welsh texts, so that probably isn't how it happened, but he's always sort of depicted as an embodiment of fate. Of inevitability. I don't know." He did, but he didn't know how to explain it. "I guess I like to think of fate as another kind of magic, too."

"Well, it's either magic or a lie," Theo determined, prompting them both to pause.

And then, after another moment, "Would it break you if any of it weren't real?"

Harry thought about it. "I don't know. Maybe."

"I think a lot of things could break me," Theo supplied grimly, and Harry saw a moment of his facade falling away, revealing again the darkness he'd seen once or twice underneath. "I think I'm a fucking fragile mess, actually."

His gaze dropped then, slipping to the redness on Harry's chest from the impact of the water. Harry thought Theo looked a little dazed; a little intoxicated, though not exclusively in the libation sense. His impeccably groomed hair was matted against his forehead, and at this angle, Harry saw the dark circles under his eyes; saw, again, Theo's darkness.

"Hold your breath," Harry advised, and swam forward, pausing to slide his hand around the back of Theo's neck.

Theo's eyes widened for a moment, and then his gaze steadied on Harry's as he swallowed, hesitation tightening at his jaw.

The first brush of Harry's lips was carefully, meticulously placed not on Theo's lips, but on the side of his cheek; on the bone of it, where Harry had touched his thumb just a few days earlier. He'd been drunk at the time, but he still remembered the feel of it, soft and hard and blunt and sharp, an echo of everything Theo Nott so confusingly seemed to be. Theo's chin jerked up then, his mouth finding Harry's, and in a brutal, desperate exchange of breaths, one of Theo's legs slid between his, drawing the two of them together. Harry's hand pressed tightly into Theo's neck, one hand still keeping himself afloat, while a set of Theo's fingers closed around Harry's wrist, anchoring the two of them in place.

Theo was a good kisser, a perfect contradiction. His lips were soft but firm. He was both sure and vulnerable. He dove into the kiss and then floated there, weightless. Behind them, the music got louder and there were a few shouts and crashes as other people began to bound towards the lake, and Harry pulled away in time to catch a glimpse of longing from Theo; of a moment cut too short.

Harry swallowed, falling back with the current. "Is there somewhere—"

Theo nodded. "Come on," he said, aiming himself towards the shore.

Harry followed.

* * *

Theo preferred the woods to the lake. Open water was too obvious. Too unsubtle. When he wanted to be alone, he took to the forest, and that was where he took Harry now, their skin soaking the fabric of their hastily-donned clothing and sticking mercilessly to the places they'd only just touched.

Theo paused, finding a circle of trees just outside the radius of noise from the Shack, and came to a gradual halt, looking around.

"I like it here," he said.

"I can see why," Harry agreed, and Theo turned.

He opened his mouth to say _of course you can see why—the trees, man, the fucking trees_ , but Harry wasn't looking at the trees. Not in any obvious way. Instead, Harry was looking at the roots, the knots on the ground, the softness of the earth, the stray beams of light that slid through the sparse vacancies of canopy. He was looking not at the storybook quality of the forest but at the grit of it, the tendrils of branches, at the skeletal shapes and the inimitable quiet. At the one place Theo would never be able to forge himself, or properly mimic.

Harry was looking at Theo.

Theo caught him around the waist, yanking him close, and Harry's hands drifted to where Theo's damp trousers affixed themselves to his hips, the lean shards of them cutting upwards into the surfaces of Harry's palms. They were the same height this way, without the ceaseless bobbing up and down, and this close—with both hands this time, one in Harry's matted hair and the other fumbling with the hem of Harry's shirt—Theo felt warm, secure, contentedly burdened with thrill. Harry tugged at his shirt and Theo removed it, and then it was damp, reddened skin on damp, reddened skin, and then it was a shove, a show of force, Theo's back colliding with the bark of a tree that had seen far more things, and far stranger things.

Harry's lips dropped to Theo's neck.

Theo's hands dropped to Harry's waist.

"This place is magic," Harry muttered into the skin of Theo's shoulder. "The trees are magic and the lake is magic and somewhere, I don't know where but I know it, I can feel it—there's a magic sword, and you and I are magic, too—"

"I know where to get a sword," Theo interrupted without thinking, instantly regretting it when Harry pulled away, a frown creasing his brow.

He retracted his regret, though, once he felt Harry's breath escape, Theo's fingers resting between the contracting gaps of Harry's ribs.

"Where?" Harry whispered, and Theo licked his lips.

"I'll show you."

* * *

Harry had never been in Professor Nott's office long enough to really take notice of what was inside it, but if he'd been asked to describe its contents, he would have known enough to confidently use the word 'blinding' as a descriptor. The walls were covered in art, all of it in metal frames that reflected light from the castle's west-facing windows, and now that the sun was dripping down into that golden afternoon sort of light-warmth, the entire office glittered, bathing them in molten rays of refraction.

"Wow," Harry said, and Theo bit down on his shoulder, having already stopped at least twice to press him back against the castle walls.

"Come on," Theo said, gesturing with his chin for Harry to follow. "He keeps the good stuff over here."

'Over here' ended up being a cupboard of sorts, or what appeared to be one except that the door led to an impossibly narrow winding staircase that felt a bit (in their unsteady state) like scaling a very steep, very shaky mountain, landing them in a low-ceilinged room that had been lofted above the classroom. There, beneath dim fluorescent lights, were an innumerable volume of objects in dusty glass cases, though Harry hadn't required Theo giving him a brusque shove into the corner for him to take notice of the sword from afar, the rubies glinting from the handle.

"What does Excalibur look like?" Theo asked, watching with interest as Harry held his breath, and eventually Harry managed to exhale, shrugging.

"Different accounts," he said. "Some say it has engravings on either side of the blade. Some say it blinds your enemies, or that it's some sort of 'sword of light' or something."

"Well," Theo said, eyeing the sword in its case, "what do you think it looks like, then?"

Harry forced a shrug, though if Theo hadn't been there he might have felt it more appropriate to gasp, or fall to his knees. "I think it matters more how it feels than what it looks like. The stories say the wielder is invulnerable to blood loss, so." He cleared his throat. "That's sort of more important, I'd guess."

"Huh," Theo replied, tilting his head in thought.

They were both hunched over, trying to avoid hitting their heads on the low beams of the ceiling. Lacking a proper method of reverential transference, Harry reached out, taking Theo's face in his hands and kissing him firmly, running his tongue over the swell of Theo's lip and then sliding it into his mouth.

"Can't let you have the sword," Theo muttered between Harry's lips, "even if you keep fucking kissing me like that."

"I know," Harry agreed, dropping his hand to slide it meaningfully up Theo's inseam. "Bummer, though."

"Well, it's not so much that I wouldn't _want_ to give it to you," Theo amended, "but my father has more extensive security than you'd think. You take the sword out, it triggers an alarm. Plus he'd miss it if it were gone; I think he loves it more than he loves me."

Harry wondered if Theo were serious.

He figured he probably was, so he kissed Theo again, letting his incisors scrape against Theo's lip. Then he moved his hand, letting Theo shift his hips against his palm, and captured Theo's subsequent gasp in his mouth.

A pause.

A calculation, Harry figured.

But then—

"Could do some Indiana Jones shit," Theo whispered.

"What, like replace it with something else, you mean?" Harry asked, bemused. "Like what?"

Theo shrugged. "Another sword, obviously."

"Ah, yes, because those are so easy to come by."

"Well, I could make one."

Harry pulled back, frowning. "What, a sword?"

"A forgery," Theo corrected, and grinned. "Could be fun."

Harry stared at him, disbelieving.

And then Harry kissed him fiercely, meeting Theo's hips with his own this time and leaving them there, permitting the friction between them to fester.

"You'd make a sword for me?" Harry asked gruffly, and Theo's smile broadened.

"I'm going to make you a fucking sword," he promised, digging his bitten-down nails into the bare skin of Harry's waist.

* * *

Theo woke up in Harry's bed later that evening, the two of them all tangled legs of poorly-dried denim and bare, tanned torsos with the smell of lake water in their hair. He made a groggy sort of sound, poking at Harry's shoulder, and Harry shifted, blearily opening his eyes.

"I should go," Theo said in explanation. "It's—" he glanced at his watch. "Eight."

Harry nudged his glasses up, scrubbing at his eyes. "Okay."

Theo shifted, trying to remember where he'd put his phone and recalling that it was still in his pocket. He dug it out with a grimace, finding the resulting screen to hold approximately what he'd expected.

From Draco: _where are you asshole_

From Blaise: _hey is that friend of urs coming back_

From Pansy: _jesus nott are you two fucking or what_

From Daphne: _THEOOOOOO PANSY WANTS A DICK TO SUCK COME BACK_

"Or," Harry's voice interrupted, with a small, throat-clearing cough. "You could stay."

Theo looked up from his phone screen.

"Stay?" he echoed, and Harry nodded.

"I could tell you some other things, if you want," he said. "Like, for example, did you know Arthur had a spear that he used to slice a witch in half?"

Theo blinked.

"You're really into this stuff," Theo judged neutrally, and Harry shrugged.

"A bit." Another shrug. "I guess."

"Just out of curiosity," Theo ventured, "has anyone ever checked to make sure you're not clinically insane?"

Harry considered it. "I'm almost positive I talked to a snake once," he remarked anecdotally.

Theo stared at him.

"Fuck," he muttered, "that's hot. You're—" he swallowed. "You're weird. You're fucking weird, and I fucking—"

Harry cut him off, wrapping his fingers around Theo's wrist and tugging him closer, sliding down on the bed in the same general motion until Theo was pressed against him, his hand on the thin trail of dark hair that ran from Harry's stomach down below the lip of his trousers.

"Stay," Harry said, one hand on the small of Theo's back, and so Theo stayed.

The next morning he tiptoed down the stairs, running into his father in the corridor.

"Theodore," his father noted with displeasure, his mouth tightening, and Theo shrugged.

"Go back to sleep, Dad," he suggested, biting back a smirk of satisfaction. "I'm definitely just a dream."

* * *

On Monday, Harry walked into Professor Nott's office to find that although his instructions were once again written on the board, as per usual, the professor himself was not in his usual place. Rather than finding him sitting at the desk poring over a manuscript, Harry walked in to find the elder Theodore Nott staring out the window, his hands in his pockets.

"Sit," Professor Nott instructed without turning around.

Obediently, Harry sat.

Professor Nott cleared his throat, turning to face Harry with a solemn look of displeasure.

"I noticed you are becoming rather close with my son," he said.

Harry didn't argue.

"If you mean to have a successful academic career, you will have to choose your pursuits wisely. Theodore is a distraction," Professor Nott said firmly. "He takes pleasure in wasting his intellect and his talents, and he and those useless vagrants he calls friends will almost certainly be a hindrance to your work."

It had not been the lecture Harry was expecting.

Still, it didn't seem worth it to speak.

"I chose you for this fellowship because I believed you had a genuine intent to pursue the subject," Professor Nott continued. "I thought you understood the value of this opportunity, and the benefit of my guidance with regard to—"

"Guidance," Harry echoed, careful to keep any tones of skepticism from his voice, and Professor Nott's mouth tightened.

"Are you implying that you're unhappy with your work?"

"No," Harry said. "Not at all. In fact, I'd like to do more, but—"

"I would like to think I can trust your judgment," Professor Nott cut in sharply. "I want to know that your head is in the right place before I trust you with the intricacies of my research. The work I do here is, as you know, of the highest caliber. If you cannot maintain a performance in this role which satisfies my expectations—"

"Is my work unsatisfactory?" Harry asked bluntly. "Or is it merely my friendship with your son that you find distasteful?"

Professor Nott have him a look of pure, unfiltered loathing.

"Get me the sources I asked for," he said, gesturing to the board, "and be certain we do not have to have this talk again."

Harry nodded, though the professor had turned away by then.

"Yes, sir," Harry said, gathering his books in his arms and pausing only when the professor's voice rang out again behind him.

"It might be worth remembering, Mr Potter," Professor Nott warned quietly, still facing the window, "that the university grant attached to this fellowship is conditional. You will not receive it if I am displeased with your work, and I'm sure you and I both know that you, unlike others who have held this position in the past, cannot afford to jeopardize it." He turned, glancing over his shoulder. "I did you a favor," the professor added coldly, "and I would like your compliance in return."

Harry said nothing.

He merely slipped out of the room, curling his hands into fists.


	3. Into the Woods

**Chapter 3: Into the Woods**

"He said _what_?"

Harry shrugged, giving Theo his weird, easy grin before dropping abruptly at the edge of the lake, sprawling out on the rocks and letting his head fall back. Theo considered telling him his face was going to burn—or possibly his retinas, seeing as Harry didn't seem to own a single pair of sunglasses, cheap or otherwise—but figured Harry probably didn't care.

"It's fine. It's not like I'm not fully aware of my own socioeconomic status," Harry remarked lazily, turning his head to squint in Theo's direction. "Obviously I can't let him fire me, though," he conceded, and closed his eyes again, permitting another wry smile. "At least not while you're building me a sword."

"I wouldn't say building," Theo corrected, finally conceding to fall down beside Harry with a sigh. "I'm still designing it at the moment. I have Draco bringing me the metal next weekend, though. Apparently he has access to some, so—"

"Wait." Harry sat up. "Really?"

Theo turned his head lazily, shading his eyes from the sun. "Did you think I was joking?"

"Yes," Harry said. " _Obviously._ "

Theo shrugged. "I don't joke."

Harry blinked. "Apparently not."

"Well, hope you're not wrong about magic, at least, even if you're foolishly wrong about me," Theo remarked carelessly. "Or about this sword, either, since we're obviously going to have to steal it—"

"How are you _building_ one?" Harry demanded, and Theo rolled his eyes.

"Again, I'm not building it. I think I'm technically _welding_ it, so—"

"This is crazy," Harry said firmly. "You're crazy."

"Says the lunatic who thinks magic is real," Theo reminded him. "If I remember correctly, you seemed to like the idea at the time."

"Yeah, but I didn't think—" Harry stared at him. "Where are you even going to build it?"

"Weld it, Potter, _weld_ it. And this is a functioning castle, remember?" Theo prompted, gesturing over his shoulder towards it. "It has a forge."

"What? But that's—that can't _possibly_ be safe—"

"Maybe it isn't," Theo agreed, dropping his Wayfarers down his nose to give Harry an unapologetic smirk. "But hey, live dangerously, right?"

Harry stared at him.

Theo sighed.

"I mean, if you're not really serious ab-"

"Shut up," Harry said fiercely, grabbing Theo by the collar and yanking him in close for something that was not so much a kiss as a collision; a crash between Theo's still-open mouth and his. Harry dragged his tongue along Theo's bottom lip, biting it hard, and then leaned back, scrutinizing Theo through a set of narrowed eyes.

"What's _wrong_ with you?" Harry demanded, and Theo smiled slowly, licking the taste of Harry from his lips.

"Oh, only everything," he replied, letting his head fall back and removing his sunglasses, permitting the sun to creep in under his skin.

* * *

"Hey. You busy?"

"Hello?" Harry asked into the phone, confused. "Sorry, who's this?"

A scoff. "It's Pansy. Did you not save my number?"

"Did I give you my number…?"

"Jesus. Well, if you're going to play _this_ fucking game—"

"No, sorry, I just—nevermind. What's up?"

"Want to come over?"

"Come over?"

"Yeah. To the Shack. Daph and I made brownies."

"That's… cute."

"Pot brownies, you idiot. Don't call us cute."

"I definitely would not."

"So, you in?"

"Um." Harry glanced down at his watch. "What about Theo?"

"I texted Nott but haven't heard from him."

"Huh. Weird."

"I mean, whatever. Nott lives on his own fucking planet, you know what I mean?"

Harry struggled not to laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, I do, actually."

"So, you coming?"

He considered it. "I guess. I'll see if Theo wants to come."

"Yeah, fine, whatever. See you—"

A click, and the line went dead. Harry rose to his feet, stretching his arms overhead, and glanced down at his notes. He _had_ finished about as much as he needed to for the evening, so he figured he could venture out for a bit.

He headed to the dungeons first, knocking on Theo's door.

No answer. There was sound coming from inside, though, so he waited.

"Nott?" Harry asked. "It's me."

A pause.

"What's the password?" came Theo's dry voice.

Harry sighed. "I don't know. Dicks."

The door opened abruptly, permitting only enough room for Theo's face as he leaned his forehead against the frame.

"Wrong," Theo informed him. "Obviously you don't know me at all, or you'd know I would never pick such a juvenile password."

"Patricide," Harry guessed, and Theo's smirk twisted, wrenching itself to an unwilling smile.

"Closer," he said, beckoning. "One more guess."

Harry thought about it, tilting his head. "Excalibur?"

"Aha!" Theo pulled the door open, grabbing Harry's arm and yanking him inside. "Pretty _and_ smart."

Harry stumbled in after him, ruthlessly smacking his shin into the post of one of the empty beds. " _Fuck_ ," he swore, and then straightened. "What have you been doing? Pansy said she—"

The words died on his tongue as he looked around the room, blinking.

"Oh shit," Harry whispered, as Theo scraped a hand through his hair, coming to stand beside him.

"What?" Theo asked, resting his chin on Harry's shoulder. "I've been drawing."

"Yeah, I—I see that," Harry said, staring at the drafting pages that littered the walls, covered with detailed sketches of the sword from Professor Nott's office. "How long have you been doing this?"

"It's got to be the exact same weight and dimension, Potter," Theo reminded him in lieu of an answer, gesturing vaguely to the drawings. "I had to do some research. I'm very thorough."

"Theo, I—"

Harry turned, swallowing hard as he met Theo's narrowly guarded eyes. "Theo, this is—" Another pause. "I just. What if I'm—" He bit his lip, gesturing to the drawings again. "This is, I don't know. Too much. I just—I mean, what if I'm—"

 _Wrong._

Theo's mouth stiffened and he adjusted his stance, shifting combatively.

"Is it real or not?" he asked flatly.

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Is magic _real_ ," Theo pressed gruffly, folding his arms over his chest, "or not?"

"Theo, I can't—"

"It's a fucking yes or no question," Theo cut in. "So naturally, I will only except a yes or a no."

"I get it, but I don't kn-"

"Don't tell me you don't know." Theo took two steps, bringing their chests together, and for a moment, Harry wasn't entirely sure whether they were about to kiss or fight. "Don't say it, Potter. Harry. Don't fucking tell me you don't know, because I don't want someone who doesn't know. I want—" A swallow. A sharp inhale. A trade from one mouth to the other. "I want something to believe in. I want you to _tell_ me what the fuck to believe in, Harry fucking Potter, so what'll it be?"

Harry shivered.

Theo Nott was truly, inimitably exhilarating when he wanted to be.

"It's real," Harry said firmly. "I've read all the texts. I've studied everything. Magic is real. Excalibur is real. All of it, it all happened, I'm positive it's all real."

Theo reached out, gripping the back of Harry's head in approval, and leaned in, the stubble on his cheek scraping against Harry's jaw.

"And what are we?" he asked in Harry's ear, and Harry shivered again.

"Magic," he said quietly, and felt Theo's smile spread against his ear.

"Good answer," Theo confirmed, pulling away to give Harry a look of something else new and impossible. "So," he continued, stepping away and leaving Harry rock-hard and utterly bemused about the circumstances of his own arousal, "I take it you didn't come to see how the sword was coming along, then?"

"Uh, no." Harry coughed, shifting from foot to foot. "Pansy called me. She wanted to know if you wanted to eat some drugged brownies."

"Oh, fuck yeah," Theo determined brusquely, glancing around his room for his phone and throwing it into his pocket before giving Harry a slightly unhinged look of expectation. "You coming?" he prompted, and didn't wait for an answer, heading out of his dorm room without a moment of pause.

"Guess so," Harry muttered under his breath, adjusting his jeans and following.

* * *

 _you're making a sword?_

 _ya lol,_ Theo replied. _i mean what else am i gonna do right_

A moment of rapid bubble-movement on the screen.

 _theo,_ Draco answered, _like i know you're insane and normally it's cute and all and we have a good laugh but i'm pretty sure it would be wildly irresponsible of me to put an actual weapon in your hands_

"Hey," Harry said, throwing his hand out to smack it against Theo's stomach. "What are you doing?"

"Draco's being a little bitch," Theo replied.

"Lol," said Harry.

"Did you just say 'lol' out loud?"

Harry shrugged helplessly. "Drugs, man."

"Wow."

 _and wait a minute, hold on,_ Draco continued, the message buzzing in Theo's lap. _what the fuck do you need a sword for_

 _i'm serious_

 _theo_

 _i'm fucking serious_

"Geez," Harry said. "What's going on with him?"

 _THEO SRSLY_

 _! don't ignore me you fucking shit_

"Dunno," Theo said. "Just freaking out, I guess." He sat upright to look over at where Daphne had climbed into Pansy's lap, spiritedly braiding their hair together. _Don't worry about it,_ he replied to Draco before sliding his phone back into his pocket, turning to Harry. "Want to get out of here?"

"And go where?" Harry prompted lazily, his eyes half-shut.

"Outside. Lake. Trees."

Harry chuckled. Then he swung himself forward, dragging himself upright, and turned slowly, leaning over to whisper in Theo's ear.

"So _outdoorsy_ , Nott," he murmured, surreptitiously darting his tongue along the lobe. "Never pinned you for the type."

"Shouldn't try to pin me," Theo replied neutrally, and smirked. "Not like that, anyway."

"What are you two talking about over there?" Daphne asked, and Harry pulled innocently away.

"We're going back," Harry supplied for the both of them. "Have some shit to do in the morning or I'll get fired."

"God, you guys suck," Pansy ruled definitively, sticking her tongue out. "Friday?"

"What's Friday?" Harry asked.

"Draco's back," Pansy replied. "And Blaise. Party."

"Ah," Harry said. "So the usual."

Something about Harry's tone made Theo feel very, very static. It made him feel stilted and unoriginal.

It made him cast a gaze around with loathing.

"You know it," Pansy replied, apparently not at all fazed by what Theo had heard. "See you, then."

"See you," Harry agreed, jerking his head expectantly towards the door, and Theo rose to his feet, slipping his hands in his pockets and following without a word.

They headed for the path along the lake, aiming themselves briskly towards the castle and falling comfortably in step, but Harry stopped abruptly once the Shack was out of sight. He dragged Theo into the trees, pressing him back against one and kissing him—hard kisses, firm, fully belying the sleepy look in Harry's eyes—until Theo pushed him back for a second, staring at him.

"What?" Harry asked, dazed, and Theo grimaced.

"Is this," he began, and swallowed. "Is this it? Am I trapped?"

Harry frowned. "You can leave if you want to, but—"

"No. Not—not that. Not you. _This_ ," Theo said, gesturing to where they'd been, what they had just left, to the only things in his life he really had. "Is this it?"

Harry considered it, his hand still curled around Theo's cheek. He paused for a long time, carefully parsing the details of Theo's face, and then tilted his head in the way Theo had come to learn Harry did right before he said something highly improbable.

"Some say Arthur pulled Excalibur from a stone," Harry offered, which wasn't technically an answer, but Theo breathed it in like relief. "To prove he was the rightful king. Some say it was given to him by the Lady of the Lake. Some accounts say there are two chimeras on a golden hilt, like two flames of fire. Some say it's got rubies, the blood of all the bearers who came before it." A pause. "Or like the one in your father's office."

Theo took a breath, nodding. "And what do you say, then?"

Harry leaned closer. "I say," he murmured softly, "that it was forged for Arthur by a wizard, that he might one day take his father's throne, and strike down all his enemies."

Theo shivered, satisfied.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed, and buzzed again.

"Need to get that?" Harry asked neutrally.

Theo shook his head, pulling Harry back to him with a growl. "No."

* * *

Harry groaned as he checked his phone screen, fumbling for his glasses and trying not to wake Theo beside him.

 _so r u like into parties now or what_

 _What?_ he typed back to Dudley.

 _i used that find my friends thing and u were like in some fuckin woods mate. that's where rich kids party right like parties r always in the woods in films and shit_

 _I don't know, dudley,_ Harry replied. _I'm not 'into parties,' I've just been to one or two._

A fluttering speech bubble.

 _so weird man who even r u_

Harry sighed, setting the phone down.

"Who is it?" Theo asked, struggling to lift his head. His shirt was twisted, the buttons of his henley still left open from Harry's artless haste. "Nevermind. I don't care."

"Where're you going?" Harry asked, watching Theo sit up and ruffle the hair at the back of his head, yawning.

"Back to work, Potter," Theo replied. "I have to finalize that design if I'm going to make this fucking sword. Draco's bringing the metal on Friday, and I should try it a few times before I start working on the real thing, so—" he shrugged, turning to face Harry. "Besides," he murmured. "It's Monday. You've got, I don't know. Academia to wrangle."

He leaned over, kissing Harry swiftly, and shoved his feet into his Sperrys, pausing momentarily.

"Don't let my dad fuck with you," Theo advised without turning around. "He's—"

He stopped, certainty fading from his expression.

Harry scooted closer to Theo's side of the bed, curling himself around the contemplative curve of Theo's spine, and Theo glanced down.

"He'll kill your magic," Theo finally determined, and Harry pulled himself up to nod into the span of Theo's shoulder.

"Did he kill yours?" Harry asked, and Theo hesitated, breathing in slowly, and then swiftly out.

"Almost," he said, and then his mouth twitched, half a smile tugging at the corners. "Almost, but not quite."

Then he rose to his feet, giving Harry another irreverent wink before loping out of the room, replacing his sunglasses on his head.

* * *

The drawings had to be exactly right.

Theodore Nott Sr employed extremely sensitive alarms (the best that money could buy, obviously), so Theo knew he wouldn't have sufficient time to switch the swords before they went off—it would be less than a second, and the sword wasn't exactly light, or easily maneuvered. Theo had already sorted out, though, that if he temporarily cut the power first, _then_ he'd be able to swap them out in about ten seconds, which is how long it took before the castle's backup generator kicked in. His father would be alerted immediately, of course, but so long as the sword was in its place and it looked _exactly right_ , there was no reason for him to believe anything was amiss. Theo could swap the swords and exit his father's classroom without arousing suspicion if he just created an _exact replica_ of the sword that sat in Theodore Nott's display case, leaving his father convinced just long enough for Harry to hold it. To get away with it.

To go—

Wherever Harry went next.

That part wasn't important, Theo reminded himself, rubbing at his eyes and reaching for another can of Red Bull. What _was_ important was getting every detail precisely right to the tiniest degree of accuracy without any room for error. That was true of all Theo's forgeries, for the most part, but nobody had ever looked at those. This, though, his father would definitely look at. His father would _scrutinize_. So the drawings had to be exactly right.

Still, even knowing that, Theo couldn't help leaving his mark.

 _Sword of light_ , Harry had called it, and Theo's fingers acted of their own accord.

 _Lumos_ , he wrote in thin script along the drawing of the blade, as if it might be carved there, invisible to everyone but those who looked closely.

Then he shoved the drawing away and drained the Red Bull, satisfied.

* * *

"You don't know him," Draco said.

He'd cornered Harry in the Shack, thankfully dragging him away from an extremely persistent Blaise but rather _un_ -thankfully pulling him into a remote area of the makeshift kitchen.

"You don't really know him," Draco said again, "and you don't know what he's like. You're filling his head with bullshit, okay? He's—" he grimaced. "He's not like other people. He can't do anything unless he's fucking— _doing it,_ you know what I mean? Half the time I'm convinced he doesn't feel like he's living unless whatever he's doing is actively killing him."

Harry let his gaze fall on Theo from afar, watching him pour a little of Daphne's rosé into his red Solo cup before giving it a gentlemanly swirl like the smooth son of a bitch he was.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I can see that."

"So you'll stop?" Draco pressed, and Harry turned to look at him, bemused.

"Stop what?"

"Stop—I don't know, exactly." Draco grimaced. "He's just—he gets, I don't know. _Manic_ like this, you know?"

"Sounds like a therapy term," Harry remarked neutrally, though he was pretty sure that if pressed, he would have used the exact same word. "Didn't know you were a psych major, Malfoy. Or is it Doctor?" he amended slyly, raising his glass to his lips.

"Yeah, well, Theo's certainly seen enough of them," Draco muttered under his breath, and then let his gaze cut guiltily to Harry's. "I mean, okay. I don't mean that he's crazy or anything, but I don't know. He's just—I grew up with him, okay?" Draco insisted defensively. "I've seen him get like this before, and it's—"

"Get like what?" Harry asked, glancing up briefly as Theo spared a laugh at something Daphne said.

Draco caught Harry's attention wandering, his mouth tightening abruptly.

"He stops eating," Draco said flatly. "Stops sleeping. Look at him, he looks like he hasn't slept in days," Draco muttered, half to himself. "He's—he gets so caught up in whatever it is he's doing that he can't draw the line between reality and the inside of his head anymore, and everything else just fucking _stops_ —"

"You're worried about him," Harry noted with interest, realizing now why Draco was the only person Theo actually seemed to care about and tucking it away for future reference.

Draco's gaze snapped to his.

"Yeah," Draco said. " _Yeah_ I'm fucking worried about him, because that's what it is to be Theo's friend. Because he's not happy unless he's destroying himself, and if he's not destroying himself, then he's destroying something else."

"His happiness," Harry guessed, taking another sip, and Draco's mouth tightened again.

"I'm just saying—"

"Relax, Malfoy," Harry said, shrugging. "I'll keep an eye on him."

"I'm not saying t-"

"Relax," Harry said again, just as Theo looked up, meeting Harry's eye with a smirk. "I'll take care of him," he added, clapping a hand on Draco's shoulder before furtively gesturing for Theo to meet him outside.

* * *

"Hey," Harry said as they stumbled over a tree root, half-crashing into each other. "I want to—I want to do something. Try something." He frowned. " _Do_ something," he determined optimistically, pulling Theo further into a circle of trees and backing him against one. "Stop me if you don't want to," he muttered, fumbling with Theo's zipper, and Theo held his breath, watching Harry settle himself on his knees.

"Oh, _shit_ ," Theo exhaled, feeling an excruciating pulse of warning as Harry's lips slid around him. "Fuck, here?"

"Is there a better place?" Harry asked, leaning back to look up at him.

Theo paused, considering it.

"No," he agreed, reaching down to tighten his fingers in Harry's hair. "No, just." He shut his eyes as Harry's tongue slid across his tip, tentative and delicate and then bolder, broader, swirling around him as he let out an inadvertent whimper. "Just, um." He reached behind him, digging one hand into the bark of the tree. " _Fuck_."

Harry released him with a pop, glancing up again.

"Good fuck," he asked, "or bad?"

"Oh Jesus," Theo said, as Harry's green eyes met his. "Jesus, _fuck_."

"Ah, how holy of you," Harry mused, not looking away as he slid his lips over Theo's shaft again, and Theo gave a full-bodied shudder, nearly yanking at the roots of Harry's hair.

"Harry," he let out hoarsely. "Harry, I'm—I—"

Harry tightened his grip on Theo's hips, digging his fingers in and moving them in concert with his mouth, guiding the motion of Theo's thrusts until Theo moved on his own, picking up the rhythm Harry had set and letting the pressure of whatever egregiously undeniable thing Harry had started began to build, and build and build and build and—

"Harry, god, HarryHarryHarry _fucking Christ—"_

A few minutes of silence, marred only by Theo's panting breaths, and then Harry rose to his feet, tilting his head to look at Theo.

"How was it?" he asked neutrally.

In answer, Theo let his head fall back, sliding boneless to the forest floor.

* * *

 _lol r u seriously in the woods again_

 _harry mate r u being kidnapped or just idk fucked_

 _like should i worry about u or what_

 _send me a response if ur ok_

 _hello? this is very unlike u_

 _i rly don't care for it personally and its super insensitive for u to disregard my feelings_

 _don't u even care about what i'm doing tonight or is this relationship totally one sided_

 _communication is the bedrock of any solid relationship lol thats what my mum yelled at my dad this morning it was hysterical_

 _harry dude just send me two words_

 _one word_

 _a letter_

 _a dick pic_

 _no not a dick pic ignore me i do not want ur dick_

 _like for real is this sex or murder tell me rn_

Theo dug into Harry's pocket, taking out the phone, and shoved it in Harry's hand.

"Fucking respond to him before I bite your dick," Theo snapped, and Harry groaned.

 _dudley i'm alive but i'll fucking kill you if you keep texting me right now_ , he typed furiously, hitting send and tossing his phone aside.

 _omfg ur getting some rnt u lol NIIIIIIIIIICE_

* * *

"If magic is real," Theo asked, "do you think other people know about it?"

"Probably," Harry replied. "They're probably just rich or corrupt or something."

Theo rolled over, resting his chin on Harry's sternum and nodding.

"So was I okay?" he asked quietly, and felt the reward of Harry's chuckle beneath his jaw.

"Fuck yeah," Harry said. "More than."

Theo could still taste him. Could still redraw the shape of him, too, if he were asked to paint it with his tongue. His lips remembered the sensation of having slid Harry between them and Theo was astounded they could now waste their time with speaking.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" Harry asked him.

"Yes," Theo said without hesitation. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

"Oh, almost definitely," Harry confirmed, running his hand through Theo's hair. "But if misery loves company, then crazy definitely loves getting its dick sucked."

"That sounds right," Theo replied with a yawn, drifting to sleep almost immediately.


	4. Take Me Up

**Chapter 4: Take Me Up**

"Hey," Harry said, stepping into the castle's forge. "Can you—" He gestured to his ears. "Can you stop for a second?"

Theo sighed, setting down his hammer and flipping up the safety visor that he was (thankfully) wearing over his eyes. "Yeah, I'll have to," he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I can't seem to get the blade thin enough while it's still hot. Need more practice, maybe." He tossed the would-be sword aside, watching it land beside a small pile of three other slightly misshapen attempts and then turning back to the forge. "What's up?" he asked absently.

"With me? Nothing," Harry replied, which was certainly true. He wasn't sure how it was possible, but Professor Nott's instructions had gotten even more lackluster. Today, Harry's instructions were to make note of all old English spellings of the word _lacu_ , otherwise translated as 'lake.' It was, not surprisingly, insanely dull.

Not unlike Theo's current sword attempts, he determined mentally.

"Malfoy called me," Harry offered in explanation, holding up his phone. "Did you give him my number?"

"What? No." Theo looked around, distracted. "Have you seen that—oh, nevermind," he muttered, shaking his head. He rolled his shoulders out, circling his left arm around the joint. "Fuck, this is some serious bicep shit—"

"Well, he's looking for you," Harry cut in, wandering over to where Theo had put his phone and noting the five missed calls on the screen. "You haven't checked this since noon?" he prompted, holding the screen up, and Theo grimaced.

"I've been busy," Theo said, gesturing to his workshop. "This'll take a while, Potter, so try not to get your knickers in a twist."

"My knickers are fine," Harry replied drily. "But you're worrying your nanny."

Theo looked up blankly, frowning, and then nodded, seeming to have recalled what they were talking about. "Oh, he'll live," Theo said, striding over to grab the phone from Harry's hand. "See?" he mumbled absently, typing something into his phone and handing it back to Harry. "All good."

 _am building a sword shithead do not send people after me it's sad I will call you when I'm good and ready. kisses_

"Nice, Nott," Harry exhaled, shaking his head. "Well, as long as you're fine. Did you eat?" he asked, glancing around for evidence. "Drink water, at least?"

Theo looked up, annoyed.

"Don't hover, Potter," he said stiffly. "You're fucking hovering."

"You can't get in my bed if you don't eat dinner," Harry informed him, picking up one of the hammers and brandishing it at him. "Are we clear?"

Theo rolled his eyes, grabbing the hammer from Harry's hand. "Fine, I'll sleep alone, then." At Harry's sigh, he smirked. "I'm joking, you fuck. I ate lunch, I'll eat dinner. Relax." He pulled Harry in close, depositing the hammer on the bench beside him. "And don't trade me sexual favors for something as banal as good behavior, Potter," he mused, "or they'll lose all their fun."

Another sigh. "I like you when you're good, you know," Harry reminded him, but Theo shook his head.

"No you don't," he murmured into Harry's ear. "You like my badness, my weird, my crazy. You fucking _love_ my crazy, don't you?"

Harry slid his hand down Theo's torso, resting it between his thighs.

"Better be good, Theo," he said hoarsely, "or that magic sword you're building me won't come out right, will it?"

Theo laughed, smacking Harry's hips and shoving him towards the door. "Touché. Though this isn't a magic sword, Potter," Theo reminded him, brandishing a bit of steel to accentuate the point. "It's just a forgery."

"Fine. Just don't make me talk to Malfoy again," Harry warned him, tossing the remark over his shoulder.

Theo shrugged. "No promises," he replied, flipping his visor back down and returning his attention to the flames.

* * *

"Theodore," his father sighed, catching him as he walked back into the castle from the forge. "What have you been doing? Why are you so—" A sniff of disdain. "Sweaty?"

"I've been exercising," Theo replied smoothly. "I've been working on my fitness, Papá. You know, the one with the movement and the calories and the heart rate? They say endorphins are good for the mental state and what-have-you—"

"Stop," Nott Sr sighed. "Please, Theodore. It's been a long day. Please don't assault me with nonsense. I just got a call from the bank, as apparently there's been quite a lot of purchases from some sort of—" He glanced down at the statement. "I don't know, a metallurgy specialist? What exactly are you doing?"

"First of all, it's really more a gentle lofting of absurdity than an assault of nonsense," Theo assured him, "though I think if you consult the surgeon general, you'll find I'm generally correct vis-à-vis exercise. And secondly," he drawled, "metallurgy sounds supremely fake. Does that sound right to you?"

"Were you with Harry?" Nott Sr demanded, gritting his teeth just as there came a low, throat-clearing sound from the corridor.

"Um, pardon, Professor Nott," Harry ventured, offering him a small USB drive without looking at Theo. "The references you asked for? The file was a little large to send in an email."

"Oh. Right," Nott Sr said gruffly. "Thank you."

He turned, glaring at Theo—as if the inapt timing had somehow been _his_ fault—and Theo shrugged.

"You should be nicer to your slaves, Daddy," Theo advised, aiming himself towards the dungeons. "And besides," he added over his shoulder, "I think Potter knows better than to spend any more time with me than he has to."

Harry's lips quirked. _Fucker_ , he mouthed, fighting a smile, and Nott Sr grimaced.

"Just don't make any unnecessary expenditures, Theodore, or we'll have to have another talk. And get showered," his father instructed irritably, grimacing. "You smell."

* * *

"You used your father's credit card?" Harry asked, shutting his eyes as the drops of water bled between his lips, settling on his tongue. "Very subtle. Highly stealth."

"You saw him," Theo replied, shoving Harry out of the way to replace him under the showerhead. "He doesn't want to have to actually _talk_ to me, so he's really never going to ask unless it's inordinately obvious. And anyway, I needed some more advanced tools," he added. "Don't know if you've noticed, but it's a medieval set of contraptions down there that's mostly been kept for historical value. They make better forges now, and fake sword or not, newer technology is welcome."

"Well, sure," Harry permitted, watching the water slip down the side of Theo's neck and fighting a shiver from where he stood off to the side. Showering together, he thought grimly, was much more romantic in places that weren't dorm bathrooms with low water pressure and unsatisfying breadths of coverage. "Still, though—"

"You cold?" Theo interrupted, cracking one eye to look at him.

"No," Harry lied, though the raised gooseflesh on his arms was distinctly less than covert. Theo shut off the water, picking up his towel and throwing it at Harry.

"Come on," he said, beckoning over his shoulder, and they toweled off just enough to slip into the hallway, Theo traveling a practiced path to a room down a set of back stairs that Harry had never thought to use before. Theo paused, locating a door behind a statue of a bewildered-looking man with gloves on the wrong hands, and jiggled the handle, muscling his way inside.

"Here," Theo announced, shoving open the door and stepping back to permit Harry entry. It was another bathroom, Harry could see, but a much, _much_ different one, softly lit (once Theo had managed to find the light switch) with an empty, rectangular swimming pool sunk into the middle of the floor. There were several golden taps, long white linen curtains, and a pile of fluffy white towels that sat near the door.

After a long glimpse around, Harry let out a low whistle, impressed.

"'Student Leadership' bathroom," Theo explained, employing a haughty set of air quotes and then leaning down to fuss with one of the taps. He turned a few knobs and then stepped back, satisfied, as after a couple of minutes, the entire thing lit up and frothed like a giant hot tub. "Obviously they don't lock it nearly as well as they should."

"I take it you're not an actual student leader, then," Harry mused, and Theo rolled his eyes, letting his towel drop to the floor before sliding in.

"No," he conceded wryly, leaning his head back against the pool's edge, "but Draco's student body president or something."

"Or something," Harry noted approvingly, climbing in after Theo and luxuriating in the water's warmth. "And you brought me here because?"

"Because," Theo said smoothly, sliding over to sit beside Harry, "you were cold in the shower." He took hold of Harry's chin gruffly, turning his head, and kissed him, letting the vaguely salty taste of the chlorine on his tongue burn against the roof of Harry's mouth. "Better now?" Theo asked wryly, and rather than answer, Harry shoved him back, letting it evolve to whatever sort of make-out fight club they were always trying to win.

Theo bit down on Harry's lip, prompting Harry to lean back with a slew of curses, and when he returned, he tugged hard on Theo's hair. Theo, not to be outdone, bit down on the base of Harry's neck and sucked, leaving behind the imprint of his mouth; the shape of his predatory smile. Harry knew he'd see the markings later and recognize the design of it, and he dug his nails into Theo's spine, spreading his fingers out wide to take up space in the notches of it, to fill the gaps.

Once Theo's hands dropped below Harry's hips—in a too-quick, too-breathless gasp—Harry pulled away. He felt the moment slip out from under him, suffering a loss of restraint; he tensed his shoulders and drew back, forcing a breath as Theo looked at him, frowning.

"What?"

"Nothing," Harry said, shutting his eyes and forcing a thin stream of air between his teeth. "Nothing, I just—"

Theo's grip turned mean. "What?"

Harry flinched. "I want—" He grimaced. "I want this."

"And what, you think I don't?" Theo asked drily, gesturing to where Harry was half-straddling his lap. "Don't know if you've noticed, Potter, but I don't really do shit I don't want to."

"No, believe me, I noticed, but—" Harry hesitated. "But what happens if we go too far?" he asked quietly, fidgeting. "I'm—"

"Poor," Theo supplied.

"And you're—"

"Clinically unstable."

"I was going to say I'm here for a job," Harry told him, "and this is, you know. You don't normally— _do_ this."

Theo arched a brow. "Do you?"

"No. Only—" Harry exhaled. "Only like, twice. Three times. And it didn't really matter, honestly, I was just—" Another falter. A pause. A sigh.

Theo leaned back expectantly, waiting.

"I've got this crazy in me, right?" Harry prompted, and Theo nodded warily. "I've got this crazy that I can't—I can't tame. I can't make it be quiet. I think about Excalibur, about Arthur, about magic, like. _Every minute_ , you know what I mean? So I do things. Sex," he said. "To like, forget. For just one second. For just _one second_."

Theo cleared his throat. "Yeah. And?"

"And with you," Harry admitted morosely. "With you, it's like—" A long, uninterrupted stream of helplessness, all his limbs drawn protectively close to his core. "It's like you're my new Excalibur."

He felt the statement leave him like a blow to his gut; like an amputation of an appendage. He felt the truth excised from him like a tumor, and he let out a breath, hands spread, as Theo stared at him, unmoving.

"No," Theo corrected after a second's pause. "I'm _making_ you Excalibur. _I'm_ not a sword, Harry, don't get it twisted."

"Don't joke," Harry said seriously, backing away. "Don't joke, Theo. This isn't a joke."

"Fine, then it's not a joke," Theo said, and glared. "So what do you want me to say?"

"I don't know." Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know, I'm just not good at—at this."

It took a minute or so of silence, Harry's thoughts whirring around in his head, before Theo finally exhaled in concession. Beneath the motorized sound of the massive bathtub jets, Harry heard the sound of Theo's head falling back, and then a different version of his dry, wary voice that sliced through the unsteady quiet.

"I was diagnosed with bipolar when I was sixteen," Theo said. "My father and the boarding school doctors put me on all these fucking pills. Lithium, Lamictal, Latuda, Lexapro, all the fucking L's—plus some other shit, I don't even know. I barely remember anything. I only remember looking at the pills and thinking: this is it. This is the proof." Theo let out a bark of laughter. "This is the proof that I'm crazy."

Harry said nothing, waiting.

"I stopped taking them because of a logistical error, if you can fucking believe that," Theo remarked with another cutting laugh. "My new doctor at Hogwarts didn't refill my pills one month, so I couldn't sleep. For days." Another pause. "So I stayed up all night, for three fucking nights, and when I finally felt normal again, I'd done all these paintings. _Starry Night_ , for example," he said, referencing what Harry had already seen. " _Girl With a Pearl Earring_. _The Last Supper_. _The Kiss_." Harry opened his eyes at that, and noted that Theo had bent his head, staring at the water. "If I just kept painting, I stopped feeling—the things. All the things that put me in the hospital to begin with. The voices got quiet, you know? Not actual voices," Theo added hurriedly, "but, you know. The demons. And it wasn't just painting. The calligraphy, and I recreate sculptures sometimes, too. And I know it's stupid," he muttered, staring at his hands. "All I'm doing is making inferior versions of the originals—"

"No," Harry cut in hoarsely. "No. That's not true."

Theo looked up slowly.

"There's beauty in your work," Harry told him firmly. "I saw it. I can see it. I can see that it's yours now, now that I've looked closer." He paused, licking apprehension from his lips. "You add things. You change things. You bring them to life."

It was Harry's turn to talk, so he waded closer, resting his hands on the edge of the pool on either side of Theo's shoulders.

"Some stories say that on one side of Excalibur it says 'take me up,' and on the other side 'cast me away,'" Harry told him slowly. "I always think about what side of the sword I am, or whether I'm both. And I also think quite a bit about whether I would even be worthy enough to bear it."

Theo couldn't look at him, so Harry took hold of his chin, jerking it up.

"They tried to kill your magic," Harry said flatly. "But they can't take it from you."

Theo blinked.

"They can't," Harry said again, and Theo moistened his lips, biting down.

"And what would you do with it?" he asked, gradually dragging his gaze back up to Harry's.

"I won't drain it," Harry promised. "I won't use it. I'll let you keep it." He reached for Theo's hand and leaned down, scraping his lips against Theo's knuckles. "I'll take whatever you want me to have, and nothing more, Theo, I promise. I promise."

For a moment, Theo simply stared at him.

Then he nodded, and pulled Harry closer, pausing to whisper something just beside Harry's mouth.

"I want all your fucking crazy," Theo promised in return, the still-salty brine of it burning between their lips, and Harry shivered.

"Good," he said, closing the rest of the distance.


	5. Bouts of Greatness

**Chapter 5: Bouts of Greatness**

Theo stepped away from the grinder, eyeing the blade in his hand and looking it over. His father kept detailed records about the sword's weight, so that much was easy. He'd already weighed it, and as long as he didn't make any careless mistakes with the hilt, he'd be accurate to the details recorded in his father's insurance documents.

Still, it wasn't as if he'd set out to create something inferior.

He shifted over to the anvil, where he'd already set a block of wood, and began testing the mobility of the blade, bending it slightly to test its resiliency. It was pliable, well-balanced; tough still, since it was made from recycled steel, but it had the look of something far less tampered. It looked _pure_ , which was how Theo generally preferred things; but again, it was about more than looks.

Theo picked up the blade, eyeing it again, and then turned, slashing it against one of the logs he'd brought in from the woods outside. He lodged a deep cut straight in, then again at an angle, and then plucked out the piece he'd carved, eyeing it with a slow, careful smile.

The blade was done.

The handle was next.

Theo looked over his drawings and frowned. He'd forgotten something.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, hitting the first (and only) number on his list of favorites.

The call picked up after one ring. "Jesus, Nott, I call you three days ago and all I hear back is 'lol everything's fine' in a text? Are you fucking insane?"

"Hi, sweetie, good to hear your voice," Theo replied warmly. "So listen, I need something, and it's going to be a little bit harder to get than the steel."

"What? Theo. Theo, listen to me, this is getting out of hand. It's cute you have a hobby or whatever, but don't you think you should like—I don't know, pick something a little more normal? Volunteer at an animal shelter, or read a fucking book or something?"

"I've read books," Theo replied briskly, "but thanks for the hot tip. So listen, I need some rubies. Not a lot, but—"

"THEO." Draco shouted it into the phone, the sound of it crackling slightly. "THEO, WHERE THE FUCK AM I GOING TO GET RUBIES?"

"Stop yelling, darling," Theo soothed. "Listen, if you can't do it, then that's—"

"THEODORE LET ME ASK YOU A VERY SERIOUS QUESTION ARE YOU OR ARE YOU NOT OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND"

"You sound upset," Theo noted.

"OF COURSE I'M UPSET MY ENTIRE CAREER IS GOING TO BE SEVERELY DERAILED ONCE I'VE GONE TO JAIL FOR BRUTALLY MURDERING MY BEST FRIEND"

"That's not true and you know it," Theo chastised him. "Firstly, jail is where you await sentencing. Prison is where you actually serve time. And secondly, Lucius would literally grease _one_ _thousand_ palms to keep you out of prison, so—"

"THEODORE I CANNOT EVEN HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF MY FURY IF YOU THINK THIS IS A REASONABLE REQUEST I HAVE SOME REVELATORY FUCKING NEWS FOR Y-"

Theo sighed, hanging up and searching his contacts for another number.

"Hello?"

"Hey Daph," he said.

"Oh, hi sweetie! Been a while. What's up?"

"I need rubies. You got any?"

"Hmm. How many?"

"Um—" Theo looked down at his drawing. "Three egg-sized ones. No, wait. Four."

"Quail eggs, I hope, or that's an ambitious request."

"Yeah, sure, quail eggs."

"Hold on—Pans. Pans, come over here. Theo needs rubies. What?" A pause. "Oh, I didn't ask. Hey, Theo, what's it for?"

"A sword," Theo replied.

"He says a sword. Mmhmm. Yeah, that was my thought, too. Oh geez, what is this, King's Cr- ugh. Theo?"

Theo blinked, looking up from his drawing. "Hm?"

"Draco's on the other line, I gotta go."

"NO, WAIT," Theo said hastily, "don't, um. Don't answer yet. What do you think, Daph, can you help me?"

A pause. She was probably chewing her lip, or brushing her hair against it like a long, mahogany-bristled paintbrush.

"Yeah, I think I can. When do you need them?"

Theo hesitated. "Tonight?" he asked hopefully.

"Tonight? Holy fuck, Nott."

"I know. I know."

"That's some seriously expeditious jewel-hunting."

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry—"

"Well, bring something good to trade, okay? See you tonight. Bring your friend, I think we're _thiiiiiis close_ to getting him into bed with us, and I'm very firmly not a quitter."

"Fine." Theo fought a smile. "I'll bring Potter."

"See you tonight, asshole."

"Bye, angel."

He hung up, satisfied.

"Alright," he exhaled, setting the blade aside and eyeing the drawing of the hilt. "What's next?"

* * *

Harry came back from his run by 7:30 that morning, had breakfast in the Great Hall, and headed into Professor Nott's office like usual. There, per usual, the assignment was waiting for him on the board behind the professor's head. He jotted it down— _compare translations between Middle English and French and note discrepancies—_ and turned to leave until Professor Nott cleared his throat, pausing Harry in the doorway.

"I asked you to stay away from my son," Professor Nott said, and Harry turned slowly. "I would like to think, Mr Potter, that you wouldn't wish to throw away the work you've done for the past two months."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, or to ask questions— _what is it about my relationship with your son that drives you to such petty lengths?_ —but determined it not worth the effort, shifting his stance instead.

"How is the manuscript going, by the way?" Harry asked casually. "I thought perhaps you might like me to cast an eye over the draft, if only to add in the references I've pulled for you."

Professor Nott stiffened. "I told you. If I cannot trust you to do as I've asked, then—"

" _Is_ there a manuscript?" Harry cut in bluntly. "When you accepted my application, you told me that my area of study aligned with your book, but I've yet to read anything that indicates any such thing exists."

"Are you accusing me of—"

"I'm not accusing you of anything," Harry interrupted smoothly. "I'm just speculating. That's my job, isn't it? To speculate? To _collaborate_ with you?" he pressed. "I merely wonder if there's anything to collaborate on, aside from your accusations about my personal life."

For a moment, the professor didn't speak.

"Do you know why I chose you?" Professor Nott asked eventually. Harry didn't answer. "Your work sample. Your grades are excellent, of course, but Stonewall has far lower standards than St Brutus or Smeltings. Your test scores are high, but that tells me nothing about a student's true capacity for intellect, for creativity. Your work, on the other hand." Professor Nott stiffened. "You wrote a very compelling essay about the significance of inevitability and circularity in Arthurian texts. That the archetype of the so-called 'Chosen One'—in Malory's case, Arthur—was the significance of the rise and fall, and the—what did you call it?" he prompted, and Harry blinked.

"The catalyst," Harry supplied, clearing his throat.

"Ah, yes, the catalyst," Professor Nott agreed, in a way distinctly indicating he'd known as much already. "The catalyst for acceptance; the first step to fulfilling a preordained purpose. What was it that you said?" he mused facetiously. "Ah right, the sword. That Arthur's possession of Excalibur set him on a path marked equally for unparalleled greatness, but also for unequivocal destruction?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed, swallowing, and Professor Nott nodded brusquely.

"A sensitive analysis. Touching, too, as if you truly believed it." The professor gave him a grim smile. "I found it extremely compelling that you would bury such thoughtful consideration in what other historians find not only over-romanticized, but overworked. I thought you would bring that consideration to your work here."

"My work sample afforded me the freedom to think," Harry reminded the professor. "Given what you've given me so far, though, I would imagine people with much less so-called 'sensitivity' might manage to meet your expectations just fine."

"And yet you continue to disappoint me," Professor Nott mused. "To think, I might have been better off with someone else. Or that I might yet direct that fellowship grant elsewhere," he added coolly, "should you continue to fall below my expectations."

Instantly, Harry fought a rush of fury that threatened to swallow him whole.

"Is there a book?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Do you want the grant money?" Professor Nott countered, unfazed.

A silent stalemate.

Harry exhaled shakily.

"I'll have the translations for you this afternoon," he finally said, turning to the door, and heard the scraping of Professor Nott's chair, indicating that the other man had returned to his desk.

"Do that. And stay the hell away from my son," the professor called after him, just before Harry let the door fall shut behind him.

* * *

Harry was unusually quiet as they walked the lake path to the Shack. At first Theo hadn't minded, finding his own thoughts distracted by how best to set rubies into steel (which he had considerably less of now, and thus fewer opportunities to make mistakes) and by the thoughtless running of his fingers over his newly calloused palms, delighting in the ache of them. Eventually, though, there was something bothersome about Harry's reticence, and Theo glanced over, nudging him sharply in the ribs.

"Ouch," Harry said.

"Not sorry," Theo replied.

"Not surprising."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit."

"It's nothing."

"If it's an 'it,' it's a something, and don't make me play this game." A pause. "I'm not supposed to have to play this game," Theo warned darkly. "Not with you."

At that, Harry sighed, pausing.

"I might not make it through the summer," he admitted, not looking at Theo as he said it, and Theo waited for an explanation. "Your father," Harry clarified, and Theo grimaced.

"He's a dick," Theo said. "He's just—I don't know. Throwing his weight around."

"Well, it's working," Harry muttered. "He's threatening to pull my fellowship grant, and I need that, or I can't pay another semester of tuition without it."

"So I'll pay it, then," Theo tossed out carelessly, beginning to walk again, but Harry grabbed his arm, jerking him back. " _Ouch_ , Potter, what the fuck—"

"Don't," Harry said through gritted teeth. "Don't do that."

"Why not?" Theo demanded. "It means nothing to me, and everything to you. It's what you're owed, anyway—and what are you even going back to Stonewall for?" he added, throwing the latter half of the statement in as if it counted for nothing. "I mean, if you're going to have Excalibur by then, what exactly are you planning to do with it?" He fought a stab of insecurity, shoving it aside in favor of accusations. "Just stick it in a display case like my dad does?"

"I—" Harry grimaced. "I hadn't thought about it."

"You know, for a man who believes in magic, you really haven't considered what it might be like to fucking _use_ it," Theo informed him stiffly, yanking his arm free. "What did Arthur do when he got Excalibur?"

Harry hesitated, and then mumbled something so incoherently Theo caught absolutely none of it.

"What? Use your words, Potter, Jesus—"

"He led the defense of Britain against Anglo-Saxon invaders," Harry repeated, slightly louder. "He protected his people. He fought a war."

"Ah, so just a casual bout of greatness," Theo joked, but it seemed to be the wrong thing to say, as Harry's face immediately contorted in panic.

"Unparalleled greatness," Harry mumbled to himself, "and unequivocal destruction—"

"You're being bad weird," Theo told him. "Not the usual weird—like, _dark_ weird. What's going on?"

"Where does your dad's money come from?" Harry asked confusingly, abruptly changing the subject. "Even for a respected academician, you're insanely wealthy. The amount of artefacts in his office alone would have cost, I don't know, hundreds of thousands of pounds each—"

"It's my mother's money," Theo said, shrugging. "She died when I was born."

"And that's it? Your dad's just sitting on stockpiles of money and writing obscure texts about antiquity?"

"Yeah," Theo said. "I mean, I assume so."

"Huh." Harry eyed his hands. "Hm."

"Look, just—" Theo sighed, setting his hands on Harry's shoulders. "Promise me you'll do something with it, okay?"

"With what?"

"Excalibur." Theo exhaled. "Just— _do_ something with it. Anything. Please."

Harry frowned at him. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Lead your kingdom to greatness, I don't know." Theo shrugged. "Just do it, okay?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Swear it," Theo said, holding out his pinky. "Come on."

"A pinky swear? Nott. I thought you didn't do juvenile."

"I do when there's no knives on me for blood oaths. Just swear it, Potter."

"Fine." Harry looped his pinky through Theo's. "I swear, I'll do something great with Excalibur."

Theo leaned forward, pressing his lips to his own hand, and Harry sighed, but did the same.

Then Theo shoved Harry's hand away and replaced his own knuckles with Harry's lips, sealing the oath with his teeth.

"Ouch," muttered Harry, but he didn't pull away.

"Not sorry," Theo replied.

Harry tightened his grip on Theo's cheek. "Not surprising," he murmured, kissing Theo again before turning back onto the path.

* * *

"Four egg-sized rubies," Daphne said, depositing them in Theo's hand as Harry watched, sitting patiently on the sofa and sipping from a cold but otherwise unremarkable beer. "And what did you bring me?"

"How about a favor," Theo offered coolly. "To be redeemed at your leisure sometime in the future. How'd you get these, anyway?"

"No, no, that won't do," Pansy cut in. "First of all, a magician never reveals her secrets—even if her secrets are a combination of too much money and a working knowledge of seedy underground types," she muttered, exchanging a disinterested glance with Daphne, "and secondly, we're very much _now_ people, Theodore. We live in the spectacular _now_."

"She's right," Daphne said, pouting. "You really don't have anything?"

"Not at the moment," Theo said lazily. "Is there something you want?"

Alarmingly, Pansy turned her head, her gaze sliding darkly to Harry's.

"Yes," she said, her voice a low, carnivorous vibration of warning, and then Daphne's head turned, curiosity furrowing itself into her brow.

Harry watched as Theo's shoulders tensed.

"That's not mine to give away," Theo said listlessly, though Harry thought he sounded like he disagreed. "If you want him, you'll have to ask him yourself."

"Fine." Pansy sauntered away from Theo and deposited herself in Harry's lap, shoving his beer aside. "Do you want to pay Nott's debt for him, Harry Potter?"

"Oh, don't make it sound so transactional, Pans," Daphne said, dropping into the spot beside Harry and resting her hand on Pansy's shoulder. "You know I hate that. Makes me feel dirty."

"Kinda the point, Daph," Pansy said, not taking her eyes from Harry's. "So, are you in?" she asked, shifting with a practiced degree of precision against his lap before taking his beer, using one hand to slide his fingers under her skirt while she took a sip from the bottle with the other. "Oof," she said with a shiver. "Cold."

Harry looked up, waiting to see if Theo would say anything, but he only stood very still, his arms folded tightly over his chest. He looked, Harry thought, as if part of him (or all of him) had expected this to happen, which Harry abruptly found mildly irritating.

"What have you girls been doing?" Harry asked them neutrally. "Not more drugs, I hope."

"More drugs than usual, or more drugs than none?" Daphne asked, sliding her hand under the gaping of Harry's worn crewneck. "Either way, I hardly think it matters."

"We came through, didn't we?" Pansy said, turning over her shoulder to flash Theo a hardened glare. "Now it's your turn."

"I told you it wasn't up to me," Theo said flatly.

"True." Pansy turned back to Harry and handed the beer to Daphne, who took a long sip before drawing her scarlet-painted thumbnail along the line of Harry's bottom lip. "Say yes," Pansy advised, leaning forward to let the words seep into Harry's neck as Daphne giggled, reaching over to bite down lightly on Harry's ear. "Say yes," Pansy murmured again, adjusting herself on Harry's lap, "and all is forgiven."

Harry gave an unwilling hiss at the motion and found himself punished instantly, catching Theo's flinch from where he stood against the wall. _Am I trapped?_ Harry heard Theo ask. _Is this all there is?_

 _Promise me you'll do something great with Excalibur._

"Sorry ladies," Harry determined, clearing his throat and rising to his feet. "If Nott has a debt, that's on him."

He walked to the door, pausing in front of Theo, and gave him a long, searching look that Theo refused to meet, either blankly or otherwise.

"Bye," Harry said, and set himself back on the path, walking back towards the castle.

* * *

Theo didn't catch up with Harry until he was almost back through the castle gates. This time, though, Theo was the one who wanted silence; he wasn't sure what to say. Harry, meanwhile, didn't even acknowledge him until they came to the big stairs past the Great Hall, which was where they might have parted ways.

"We're going to your room," Harry determined for them, and Theo nodded, though it was an unusual choice. He turned sharply, heading down to the dungeons.

The common room for the Slytherin dorms was situated below the lake, with a view of it from a broad, aquarium-like glass wall. It was obviously some sort of improvement to the school that had been added sometime in more recent centuries, but Theo had always felt it calming. Felt it encompassing, actually, like being inside something vast, and therefore providing him the certainty of knowing he was precisely as insignificant as he so often felt.

Sometimes, it was just nice to be right about something.

"Stop," Harry said abruptly, grabbing Theo's shoulder before he led them into his dorm room. "I didn't want to do that."

Theo stiffened. "I didn't say that you d-"

"Shut up." Harry looked at him, his green eyes hardening slightly, and glittering with the same murky, untold darkness of the lake. "Just shut up."

Theo closed his mouth, waiting.

"Let me see the rubies," Harry suggested, beckoning, and Theo drew the small bag from his pocket. Harry opened it, pouring them out into his palm, and eyed them carefully. "These are nice," he commented outrageously (Theo doubted Harry had any knowledge of jewels of any sort), but then he put them back in the pouch, shoving it into Theo's chest. "Put them away and come back here," Harry said.

Theo blinked, but obeyed.

When he returned from his bedroom, Harry was sitting in one of the upright leather chairs, kingly and expectant.

"You should have told them why I wasn't going to do it," Harry judged, which sounded suspiciously like a carefully constructed sentence. Theo wondered if that was what the silence had been about.

"I don't know why you didn't," Theo replied airily.

"Shut up." That same tone again. "You know why not."

"Oh, do I?" Theo mocked.

Harry rose to his feet, not looking away, and stepped closer. He stepped so close his shoulder collided with Theo's and then he stood there, unmoving, to speak quietly in Theo's ear.

"Do you know what I think about at night?" Harry asked, and Theo fought a shiver. "The way the muscle tenses around your jaw." Harry reached up then, lightly stroking a line down Theo's left cheek with his right thumb. "When you grind your teeth together to keep yourself from saying anything, from making a sound. The way you hold back, it drives me mad. Makes me furious. Makes me feel crazy." Theo swallowed. "Makes me want to shake it loose, somehow. You're such a liar, Nott," Harry whispered, his voice soft and sharp and yet incongruously gentle. "You're such a liar that you don't even know how to tell the truth. You don't even know what the truth feels like in your mouth, do you?"

Theo held his breath.

"Tell me you want me," Harry said.

A shudder. "I want you."

"Tell me how much."

"Fuck, so much. So badly." Theo gritted his teeth. "So fucking b-"

"No," Harry said, reaching up and yanking Theo's jaw towards him, his thumb slipped carelessly between Theo's lips and hooked around the backs of Theo's bottom teeth. "Don't do that. Just tell me the truth."

Theo nipped bitterly at Harry's fingers. "What truth?"

"Tell me," Harry said firmly, releasing him, "why I walked out of there, Theo. Tell me why I didn't do it."

"Because—" Theo exhaled, Harry's hand sliding down to his chest and down his torso, the thumb that had been between his teeth now slipped behind the button of his trousers. "Because you want me."

" _Yes._ " Harry's grip on him tightened. "Was that so hard?"

"Yes." Theo grimaced, glancing down. "Yes, it was."

Harry shifted sideways, aligning their shoulders, and tilted Theo's mouth up for his. Theo obliged, hungrily, and found himself shaking, still clinging to Harry when they parted.

"What happens to Arthur?" Theo asked, struggling to disguise the gaps in his constitution, the tremor in his voice. "He's king. He conquers. Then what?"

"It's his fate to die," Harry replied. "To die from betrayal, actually. No matter the account," he added, "someone always betrays him. His wife, his son, his cousin. It's always someone, and he dies of a mortal wound."

Theo stiffened, flooded with opposition.

"I don't like it," Theo said. "Change it."

Harry looked up, arching a brow. "I can't exactly—"

A gruff, angry kiss. "Change it." Another. "Or I won't finish the sword."

Harry let out a breath. "How about this." Another kiss, a gasp. "Arthur's king, then. He conquers. He's betrayed, mortally injured, but just before he dies, the wizard who made his sword appears to him. Saves his life. Makes him _his_." This time, a kiss so bitter it's lethal; so desperate it burns. "Arthur disappears to leave a legend. He dies a hero and a king, only when they try to bury him, they never find him." A tear, a rip as they pulled apart, and then Harry said it again: "They never find him."

"Why not?" Theo asked, dazed.

A smile pulled at Harry's lips. "Magic."

Theo's mouth twitched. "Good answer," he said, and pulled away, shoving Harry back onto the stiff leather sofa. "Good answer."

* * *

 _when do u get back i feel like its been ages mate_

 _don't you have anyone else to talk to?_ Harry asked, shaking his head. _you do recall that we're barely friends, right?_

 _thats literally the rudest shit i've ever fckn heard,_ Dudley replied, and then, shortly after, _harsh but fair_

Harry paused, considering a response. _How are things at home?_

 _lol shitty,_ Dudley said. _but like also v normal u know_

Harry did know. He lived at home during the year and commuted in a fairly run-down car to save money, which meant that he was extremely familiar with Vernon's temper and Petunia's general air of disapproval. They spared most of it for their son, obviously, but that house still wasn't the most pleasant place to be.

 _Yeah well I've got like two weeks left here and then I'm back for the school year. When do you leave for Smeltings?_

 _1st sept,_ Dudley replied, which meant they'd overlap for about a week.

Harry set down his phone, picturing his future. Breakfast in silence with Vernon, specifically, or worse, Dudley bickering with his father while Petunia sniffed at a grapefruit. It was bleak, to say the least. It always looked vaguely like the cheap, garden-themed wallpaper from the house on Privet Drive. Whenever Harry pictured his past or his future, it always looked the same. Always like his view from the breakfast table. It always looked like a faded grey rabbit looking morosely out over a field of yellowing carrots.

Luckily, Harry had never been the sort of person who looked forward to things; sort of a natural result of having very little to look forward to. For a long time that had been what drew him to the mythical texts, to the accounts of magic. There was always someone who had been plucked from nothing and thrown into the flames without warning or preparation. Harry thought for a long time that someone might show up at his door and tell him, finally, that the thing he'd been missing was waiting for him. That he was ready now—that he'd served his time in obscurity—and now, at last, there was something for him.

Beside him, Theo stirred, rubbing his eyes and sitting up to let his duvet pool around his hips.

"Potter, you fucker, it's like three in the morning," Theo grumbled.

"It's five," Harry corrected.

"Same thing." Theo kicked his legs out, stretching his arms up. It was like falling through the looking-glass down here; much easier to lose track of time. Harry preferred the light in Gryffindor Tower to the underground claustrophobic nightmare that was the Slytherin dorms, but he felt he occasionally needed to share Theo's darkness for a bit, if only temporarily. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing." Harry shifted from the foot of the bed, dragging himself closer to Theo. "Go back to sleep."

"Can't," Theo replied, his eyes glittering. They were green too, but not like Harry's. Theo's were green like the bottom of the lake, darker and always shifting in the light, always revealing something Harry hadn't seen before. "It's a big day, Potter. It's a huge fucking day."

"And what day is that?" Harry mused, caught up in Theo's look of madness, and Theo reached out, snaking an arm around Harry's neck.

"Today," Theo said, shifting to place the heel of his hand in the little cavern directly below Harry's ribs, "I'm going to finish your motherfucking sword."

* * *

Theo's back ached, and his neck, and his shoulders. Everything ached. His eyes were tired, he'd nearly cut or burned his fingers at least once each, and every time he slammed a hammer into anything (or doused some metal in a searing bath of flames, or watched the shower of sparks from the electric sander) he caught a glimpse of Harry's face behind the lids of his eyes, or worse. He saw Harry's back. He watched Harry go. He watched Harry eye Excalibur in his hand and then turn to leave, walking alone through an archway lit by the blade of his sword.

Still, it wasn't nothing to hold the sword in his hands; the product of work well done, and time well spent. Every angle of it was meticulously crafted, perfectly designed and carefully executed. It matched every specification of his father's renderings—even though he'd had to add some weight to the handle, the recycled steel being slightly lighter than the real sword's solid silver—and was better, in a way. Maybe it wasn't magical, but it was a weapon nonetheless. Silver was weak and malleable. The sword Theo had made was not, and he thought it rather aptly fit the purpose for which it had been made.

Theo had built Harry something sharper and more dangerous than anything that would ever stand against him, and that didn't feel like any small thing.

"Hey," Harry said, his voice nearly startling Theo into slicing off a finger. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Fuck, Potter, quit being so stealthy," Theo swore, setting down the sword with a glare and dragging a towel across the back of his neck. "I'm holding a fucking _sword,_ you imbecile—"

"It's three in the morning," Harry cut in impatiently, but paused, his brow furrowing as the sword caught the light. "Is that," he began, and paused, walking towards it like he'd pulled it from a dream. "Is that it?"

"No, Potter, this is a different sword," Theo replied, rolling his eyes. "This sword I just made for f-"

He cut off as Harry crossed the room, grabbing Theo's face and pulling it towards his with a ruthless, artless vehemence, sending them both stumbling back against Theo's workspace. Harry tasted like toothpaste and the particular dizzied sensation of a fever and Theo held on, light-headed, until Harry pulled away to stare at him, his mouth drawn into a thin, grim line.

"You built me a fucking sword," Harry accused flatly.

"Again, I forged it," Theo said, "but—"

"Shut up," Harry said breathlessly, kissing him again, and then shook his head. "You made me a sword, you goddamn—you stupid fucking—"

"Try it," Theo said, gesturing to it. "Might as well. I mean, you should probably practice with something."

Harry frowned, turning to stare at it. "Try it? On what?"

"There's some wood over there," Theo said, pointing to it. "Just, you know. Stab it. I'd have hidden the sword in a stone if I could have found one in time," he joked, "but, you know. This is a forgery, so. You'll have to settle for something slightly less than a—"

"Catalyst," Harry supplied, and Theo blinked.

"Sure," he said, bemused, and Harry stepped forward, picking up the sword with his left hand and tossing it, lightly, into his right.

"It's not that heavy," Harry noted, frowning. "I thought it'd be heavier."

"It's heavier than it needs to be," Theo assured him. "But that's what you get when you use modern tech for a medieval sword."

"These rubies," Harry exhaled with a low, appreciative whistle, shaking his head. "Did you—is this—"

"Lost for words, Potter?" Theo drawled. "Just give it a swing. You know. _Wield_ it, my liege."

Harry gave him a look of impatience but sighed, conceding. He tightened his grip on the sword, eyeing the blade for a second, and then turned sharply, slicing it into the thick wooden log that Theo had set beside his work table before wrenching it out, awed.

"Fuck," Harry said again. "You built me a sword."

"Jesus, Potter, if I have to tell you one more time that I f-"

"Stop," Harry growled, stabbing the sword directly into the center of the wood before turning back to Theo, advancing towards him. "Just stop, okay? I'm thanking you." He reached out, pulling Theo towards him, and aligned their hips, one hand dropping to Theo's waist. "I'm fucking thanking you, asshole. This is gratitude." Another biting kiss. "This is a thank you, and now you say—"

"You're welcome," Theo conceded, sliding his fingers up the back of Harry's neck to tangle them in his hair, tightening his grip. "You're very fucking welcome, Potter," he said, and then pulled the hem of Harry's ratty t-shirt up, clumsily ripping it from Harry's chest and sinking his nails into the broadness of Harry's back, dragging them down his spine. "You're welcome—"

Harry's fingers traveled deftly over the buttons of Theo's shirt, dropping to kiss the side of Theo's neck before pinning his arms behind his back, peeling the fabric from his shoulders. In answer, Theo fumbled with Harry's athletic shorts, half-pulling, half-kicking them to his ankles, and Harry tugged at Theo's jeans, dragging his boxers down with them.

Theo's hand slipped between Harry's thighs, and Harry leaned back, swallowing.

"What is it now?" Theo growled, and Harry blinked.

"Nothing. It's just—around this point you usually stop me," Harry said, "or I stop you, or—"

Theo dragged his tongue across his lip. "I don't want to stop," he said stonily, not backing away.

"Neither do I," Harry said.

They stared at each other.

"Do you know what to do next?" Theo asked warily, and Harry nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I—I think so," he said. "I do, I just—"

Theo drew him close again, softening just enough to revel in the feel of Harry's back arching towards him.

"What are we?" Theo asked him, his hand curled around Harry's jaw, and Harry looked up, his lips bitten and red and curled up in a darkened smile.

"Magic," Harry promised, and Theo kissed him again, and again, and again and again until all hesitation was gone from Harry's lips.

"Come to bed," Harry said, and Theo nodded gratefully, resting his hand over the sound of Harry's heart pulsing in tune with his.

* * *

 **draco STOP BEING A DICK PARKINSON malfoy:** _Nott seriously this isn't funny, I thought you were coming out to the Shack tonight_

 **pansy is an uncontested delight:** _ugh are we talking bones to pick with nott because I have a big one_

 **daphne dramaaaaa:** _i think you mean lack of bone pans_

 **pansy loves dicks:** _true_

 **pansy loves dicks:** _oh come on draco that's not even an insult everyone knows I love dicks_

 **BLAISE ALSO LOVES DICKS:** _me too_

 **pansy loves pussy:** _did you change your own name, zabini?_

 **pansy loves pussy:** _oh very funny draco this is also true and not even a secret_

 **daphne dramaaaaa:** _no it was me this time_

 **pansy loves pussy:** _oh then that's fine_

 **pansy loves daphne's pussy:** _here I fixed it_

 **daphne dramaaaaa:** _aww! pans. you're sweet_

 **draco fucking malfoy:** _nott seriously_

 **draco fucking malfoy:** _come on_

 **draco fucking malfoy:** _who even is this potter kid? I don't like it i don't trust him_

 **pansy loves daphne's pussy:** _I can look up his public record and get some dirt on him if you want draco, that's a fun new way to use my mum's computer_

 **BLAISE ALSO LOVES DICKS:** _just what we need, more nepotism_

 **draco fucking malfoy:** _YES. do it parkinson_

 **pansy loves daphne's pussy:** _don't tell me what to do draco_

 **pansy loves daphne's pussy:** _but ok sure sounds fun_

 **daphne dramaaaaa:** _oooh yessss you're like a sexy private investigator_

 **theo's nanny:** _god you two are gross_

 **theo's nanny:** _okay wait who did this_

 **theo's nanny:** _PARKINSON_

 **pansy loves daphne's pussy:** _ugh come on draco that wasn't me. I'm much more subtle_

 **daphne dramaaaaa:** _not me either_

 **BLAISE ALSO LOVES DICKS:** _not me lol_

 **theo's nanny:** _THEODORE NOTT DID YOU SHOW UP HERE JUST TO CHANGE MY NAME AND THAT'S IT_

 **theo's nanny:** _I THINK I DESERVE AN ANSWER YOU SHIT_

 **theo's nanny:** _IT'S ONLY ME, YOUR BEST FRIEND_

 **theo's nanny:** _CHECKING TO MAKE SURE YOU'RE NOT DEAD_

 **theo's nanny:** _YOU MASSIVE CUNT_

 **BLAISE ALSO LOVES DICKS:** _lmfao classic_


	6. Madness in His Blood

**Chapter 6: Madness in His Blood**

"I'll be out tomorrow," Professor Nott said briskly, packing things into his briefcase. "I'll write your assignment on the board, and I'd like it submitted at the usual time. If you have questions, email me."

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, which was mostly a function of politeness, though not entirely without genuine curiosity. Much like his son, the elder Theodore Nott never seemed to venture much outside the castle.

"Lunch conference with some of the other professors," Professor Nott muttered in reply, pausing to glance sharply up at Harry. "I hope I can count on you to be diligent in my absence, Mr Potter."

In an ambitious display of further politeness, Harry avoided mentioning the obvious, which was that Professor Nott's presence was very similar to a normal person's absence.

"Of course," he replied, and added fancifully, "Enjoy your lunch."

The professor nodded, distracted.

"You too," he said, barely looking at Harry before sweeping through the door.

* * *

"He lives with his aunt and uncle. His parents were _murdered_ , Theo, when he was like, a year old—there's a police report in here. Now you're saying he's never brought them up, and that honestly doesn't seem weird to you?"

"Weird? No," Theo replied lazily, staring at his ceiling. "Sad, sure. But it's not like I talk about my dead mum either, Draco."

If Draco was listening, he gave no indication. "His grandfather is Fleamont Potter, Theo. That makes Potter the heir to that hair company's fortune. I thought the name sounded familiar when I first heard it but I mean— _Stonewall_ , come on, I thought it was just a coincidence—"

Theo sighed. "So what are you saying, Draco?"

"He's rich, Nott. Fucking— _rich_ rich. This is not a small company. He's probably richer than you."

Theo scoffed. "Seems unlikely."

"I think he wants something from you, Theo. Did that ever occur to you?"

"No, Draco, it didn't. Not everybody wants something from everyone else, okay? You've been working for your dad for too long. Your rosy outlook is all tainted and shit."

"Come on, Theo—"

"Look, I really don't think you can fake Potter's brand of poverty and misery," Theo cut in brusquely, analyzing the calluses on his palms. "So what if he's some dead guy's grandson? What difference does it make?"

"It just seems fishy to me, that's all." A cold, crisp pause. "Look, Nott, I'm worried about you."

"Why? Because I don't want to get drunk with you at the Shack anymore? Because I, like a reasonable, god-fearing human being, don't want to have sex with Daphne and Pansy?"

"You're not returning my calls, Theo. You—you're worrying me."

Theo sighed. "You don't have to worry about me, Draco. I keep telling you this. You really don't."

"You _say_ that, but—" Theo could hear Draco's grimace through the phone. "You forget what I've seen you do, Theo. You forget that I found you when you—" A heavy swallow. "I'm always going to _fucking_ worry, you motherfucking asshat, so the least you can do is return my goddamn calls."

"Fine. I'm sorry, Draco. Really," Theo exhaled moodily, displeased by the necessity of sincerity. "I was distracted for a bit, but I won't ignore you again, I promise. And besides, you'll be back here in like two weeks, mate, and Potter'll be gone." He kept his voice light. "You can keep an eye on me then."

"Yeah." A grumble. "Great."

Theo looked up, catching a knock on the door. "Just calm your tits, okay Malfoy? I'm fine, everything's fine. I love you, you know that?"

"God, _don't_."

"Oh, come on. Say it back, Draco, you know you want to—"

"Nott, for fuck's sake—"

"Say you love me, Draco, or I'll defenestrate myself directly into the lake and frame you for my death. I mean, we already know Lucius won't stand for prison time, but I'm sure there'll be some nasty piles of paperwork _somewhere_ , you know—life insurance, extortion, etc—"

"Christ. Fine. I love you, you fucking dickhead."

"Gross. Keep it in your pants, Malfoy," Theo replied cheerily, hanging up the phone and heading to the door as the knocking persisted. "Jesus, give me one sec-"

He stopped, catching his father's sour face in the door frame. "Oh."

"Theodore," Nott Sr said grimly. "I'll be out for part of the day tomorrow."

"Oh." Theo shrugged. "Well, live your best life, Dad."

He moved to shut the door but his father reached out, smacking his palm against it and appearing to have startled them both.

"Just stay here, would you?" Nott Sr asked after a moment, looking distinctly nervous. "I'm asking you, Theodore, to stay away from Potter."

"I'll try not to corrupt him, Dad, but once again, I really think he's probably safe from my terrible influence. Anyway, if that's all—"

"Theo, please." At that, Theo blinked, grudgingly alarmed to find his stone-faced father so close to pleading. "Please listen to me, okay? Just stay in your room and stay out of trouble. Can you do that?"

It didn't seem worth it to argue.

"Yeah," Theo said, clearing his throat. "Yeah, Dad. Fine."

"Okay," Nott Sr exhaled, relieved. "Okay. And Theodore?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm only trying to protect you," Nott Sr said.

Theo frowned, bemused, but offered his father a listless shrug.

"Sure," he replied, shutting the door and heading back into his room.

* * *

"It's simple, Potter," Theo said, bounding up the stairs and taking them two by two from the forge. Harry, who held the sword-forgery in his right hand, took a slightly more careful path up the stairs, so as not to die an embarrassing death from blade-related injuries. "We'll go to the storage room in my father's office. Once you're situated, I'll cut the power, and then you'll have ten seconds to swap the swords before I turn it back on. Then I'll meet you back here. Simple."

 _Right_ , Harry thought dubiously. _Just simple, everyday grand theft._

"Are you sure there's no cameras or anything?" he asked warily, glancing around, and Theo gave a loud, obtrusive groan. "Or shouldn't we do this at night, at least?"

"No, Potter, we shouldn't," Theo replied, "because perfect opportunities like my dad being out of town don't come along too often. And besides, if we wait any longer, you'll already have left for the summer and then you'll be a suspect. You've still got what, a week and a half here? So it's fine," he determined with a shrug, though Harry thought he didn't sound particularly fine. "We're doing it today, end of story."

Theo punctuated the end of the sentence by throwing open the door to his father's office, gesturing Harry inside.

"Besides," Theo added spiritedly, "you told me I should have a vengeance plot, didn't you?"

"I meant a _long term_ revenge plot," Harry reminded him. "Something a little bigger than robbing your father."

"Well, I built a sword, Potter," Theo reminded him. "So there was some temporal immensity involved, and what if I'd died last week, hm? Nobody has time for elaborate plots. Certainly not when there's so many smaller, more achievable antics to be had."

Harry tried not to fidget at the thought; he figured it was unseemly for a man carrying a medieval sword. Still, some things, like the shudder of discomfort at the prospect of something happening to Theo, were inescapable. Something about Theo Nott made Harry inordinately vulnerable to motion. Something about Theo Nott made Harry vulnerable _in general_ , which was an epiphany that was much, much more distressing than he thought.

"Forged," Harry reminded Theo dizzily. "Forged the sword."

Theo paused then, staring at Harry from beside the storage door, and then he darted forward, kissing Harry so quickly it felt like a puncture to one of his lungs.

"After you," Theo supplied in nearly the same breath, having jimmied open the lock and stepped aside, gesturing Harry up the stairs. "Just head up there and be ready for when I give you the signal, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Harry agreed, his hands suddenly tightening around the sword's handle. "But wait, Theo—" he reached out, grabbing Theo's collar to prevent him from leaving. "What will I do if it's Excalibur?"

Theo's impossible gaze leveled on his. "Something great, I imagine," he posed neutrally. "Unless you plan to be a liar."

Harry released him, dazed, and nodded slowly, a rush of anticipation flooding his veins.

"Okay," he said. "And how am I going to know when you cut the power?"

Theo held up his phone. "Astonishingly," he drawled, "I think we'll find a way."

* * *

"You know, I know this barely counts, but I'm pretty sure I've never actually gotten a phone call from anyone who wasn't Dudley. Except for your friends, I guess, but they were usually looking for you."

"That's really sad, Potter. I'd cry if I weren't incredibly busy and famously heartless."

"You're not heartless, Nott. And I don't think I've ever actually called you before, either. Have I?"

"You didn't call me. I called you."

"I didn't even know you had my number."

"Well, I'm a tricky minx, Potter. I'm made up of nothing but wiles and whimsy."

"Don't forget wit. Biting wit."

"Cutting wit, I think."

"Yes. Lethal, Nott."

"I like to think so, personally."

A pause. "So are you there yet?"

"Nearly. Just making my way down to all the fancy switches and buttons and whatnot. You know the ones."

"Do you really know what you're doing?"

"I forged a sword, Potter. You should really come to expect I always know what I'm doing."

"Even when you clearly don't?"

"Especially then, actually."

"Fine." A pause. "Is it weird if I want to keep this sword, though?"

"Yes, definitely. It's not magic, Potter, it's just recycled steel. You get cut while you're holding that sword, you're definitely gonna bleed out. I think you need the actual kingmaking magic one if you're going to grow up to curse everyone to the bottom of the sea."

"You know, I find it kind of touching that you remember that. Is that weird? Is that really how low my expectations are?"

"Well, I am an excellent listener, in addition to being immensely filled with wit."

"For the record, I wouldn't actually curse everyone to the bottom of the sea. Maybe Malfoy. But you can stay if you want."

"What? Stay? On land? Like some kind of land-walking plebe? No. No, if you're in charge, it's the sea for me. Cast me off, it's all over—"

"I'm going to miss you."

Theo halted abruptly, blinking. "What?"

"Me. You. I'm going to miss you. This, us. The way you're totally fucking insane, and you know what? I like it. I'm going to miss it. Liking you so much, I mean."

"I—" Theo swallowed. "What?"

"I think I might—" A crackle of hesitation. "I don't think I should say it. I think it would scare you away, and I don't think I could stand to lose any of the time I have left. Even if I do just end up spending it listening to you mumble endlessly about, I don't know, the pitfalls of existence. But you're not an idiot, so you know what I would say if I could, right? You know."

Suddenly, Theo wanted very badly to break his phone in half.

Only then he'd need another one.

To hear Harry's voice.

So he said, "I know."

"Good." A pause. "So did you find it? The switch?"

"Yeah." Theo exhaled sharply. "You ready, Potter? Ten seconds."

"Is ten the one after nine, or before eleven?"

"Don't," Theo snapped, utterly laid to waste and wishing he could lie down momentarily. "Don't be cute."

"I'm not cute. At best I'm a roguish sort of handsome."

"You're scrawny and poor."

"And—?"

Theo sighed. "And roguishly handsome."

"Good. Okay. See you on the other side, Nott."

"Yeah," Theo said, swallowing hard. "See you."

* * *

The electronics in the room came on again, buzzing like hornets from every corner of the room, well before Theo came back to his father's office. Even with the time it took Theo to return, though, Harry could still only manage an awed, stupefied staring at the blade in his hand, silently marveling at it.

"It looks the same," Harry remarked, catching a glimpse of Theo in the doorway and jolting himself back to consciousness. "It even feels the exact same in my hands." He spun quickly, half-aiming it at Theo. "You really made an exact forgery, didn't you? You clever bastard."

Theo smiled wanly. "Something like that." He took a step closer, eyeing the blade. "So who's Gryffindor? In relation to Arthur, I mean."

Harry shrugged. "Could be anyone. Looks like it could be slightly newer than the rest of the blade, so the sword could have been reforged from its original state to—I don't know. Hide it, possibly? There's really no way of knowing."

Theo glanced up from eyeing the sword, sparing it more reverence than Harry had ever seen him use for anything else. "Well, it's supposed to make you invulnerable to blood loss, right?" he prompted, and Harry felt his eyes narrow warily.

"What are you suggesting?"

"Oh, don't be a baby." Theo looked around, sorting through a box of his father's things and withdrawing a fine-edged letter opener, which appeared to be a gift that a student had brought back from wherever a letter opener was an appropriate gift. "I'm not going to gut you, Potter, I'm just going to—"

Theo took Harry's hand, rapidly slicing a line into his palm, and Harry let out a sharp hiss of dismay, though it was more a response to surprise than anything. The cut didn't bleed; didn't even hurt, actually, and Theo looked down at it, curious, turning Harry's hand to catch every angle of the fluorescent light above, eyeing the shape of it.

"Hm," Theo said, frowning. "What are we missing?"

"Missing?" Harry asked, dizzied, and Theo nodded distractedly.

"Oh, right, this—"

He knocked the sword from Harry's hand, sending it to the floor with a crash.

"Jesus, Nott, magic or not that thing is centuries old, and—"

Harry stopped, dumbfounded, as the cut across his left palm abruptly began to bleed, jewel-colored beads of darkened red forming to weep out of the wound in his hand. He flinched, drawing his arm in towards his side, but Theo stopped him, holding his wrist still.

"So," Theo said, looking up at Harry. "I'd say the sword has at least one magic quality, then."

Harry watched, breathless, as Theo lowered his head to Harry's hand, brushing his lips against the wound first and then slowly, penitently, dragging his tongue across it, sucking the skin lightly to stop the bleeding. Harry, whose eyes fell helplessly on the bend of Theo's neck, felt a gaping, twisting lurch of something that was equal parts madness and sanity; equal parts danger and safety.

Theo Nott was manic, impulsive, damaged. He was a disaster, always mere breaths from collapse.

And Harry was never more whole than when he was in Theo's hands.

"Theo," he exhaled, but Theo shook his head, looking up slowly.

"No. It's my turn."

Harry blinked. "But—"

"I won't run." Theo stepped forward, his chest so close to Harry's he could feel their pulses sync, racing momentarily and then colliding back to steady, unerring certainty. "A lot of things could break me, sure, and you more than anything, but you wouldn't. So I think that means you get something for it. Some token, or some freedom. Something. Like, say—" he stepped even closer, his lips brushing the side of Harry's mouth. "The ability to say the things you want to say when you want to say them."

Harry paused, weighing his options.

"What if," he posed carefully, "your crazy is your magic?"

Theo gave something of a grim chuckle. "Don't tell me _that's_ what you wanted to say," he muttered gruffly, taking hold of Harry's chin. "Come on, Potter. Don't fuck with me, not now."

Harry leaned in at his touch, resting his cheek against Theo's palm.

"Theo, I—"

They both stopped as they heard a sound from below, rooting them in place. The door beneath them had opened, the creak of it resonating to where they stood; then, shortly after, the sound of a familiar cadence of steps entered the room.

"Shit," Harry whispered, recognizing the tell-tale sounds of Professor Nott's arrival into the office below.

Theo shook his head. "Stay here," he instructed, and glanced down at the sword. "And pick that up," he advised smoothly, brushing his thumb across his lips before resetting them in his usual smirk. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt up here."

* * *

Theo shut the door to his father's self-indulgent collection of artefacts with a strange, all-encompassing thrill, the thought of what he'd just seen and heard and felt threading perilously through his veins.

Harry was right.

The sword was Excalibur.

The sword was _Excalibur_.

Or at the very least, Theo had spent the summer with a man who could wield a magic sword, and that certainly didn't seem like nothing.

"Theodore," Nott Sr exhaled, looking up from his desk with a jump. He had the heel of his hand pressed against his chest, and for the first time in a long time, it occurred to Theo just how old his father really was. "What are you doing in here? And _why_ ," he pressed, exasperated, "was I _thanked_ for hosting the luncheon, Theodore?"

"I don't know, Papa," Theo replied smoothly. "Perhaps people are simply more polite than you remembered since you last ventured into society. Very gracious of you, by the way, to hold a luncheon at all, totally out of character for you—"

"So they mentioned several times," Nott Sr growled, glaring at him as he hastily shuffled some of his papers. Theo glanced down, frowning at the motion, and noticed that his father's file cabinet was open, one of the files messily removed and even more carelessly buried under what looked to be completely unrelated items. "You put a luncheon for a dozen Hogwarts faculty on my credit card, Theodore? What were you thinking? Clearly you wanted me out of here," Nott Sr continued to rant, "but _why_ , and what were you—"

He broke off, frowning, and stared at the door Theo had entered from.

"Where's Harry?" Nott Sr demanded sharply. "Potter. Where is he?"

"I don't know, Father," Theo retorted indignantly, trying to read the contents of the file folders from where he stood; the drawer was ambiguously marked _M-Z_. "You told me to stay away from him, didn't you? So I'm sure he's somewhere else, living his life in total unrelation to mine."

"What were you doing in there?" Nott Sr pressed, jerking his head to the narrow door behind which Theo was sure Harry was standing, his fingers still wrapped solidly around the handle of the (magic) stolen (magic, magic, _magic_ ) sword. "Theodore, this is not a joke. You know I don't allow anyone in there," he warned, his lips pressed thinly as he advanced a step towards the door. "And this, this power outage—" His eyes narrowed, and Theo, suddenly very aware he had no means by which to even consider persisting innocence, rapidly altered his approach. "Was this you, Theo? If anything's been touched, I swear, you have no idea the consequences—"

"You're hiding something from me," Theo cut in sharply, realizing there was a good chance the obscured folder started with the letter _P_ , and Nott Sr stopped abruptly, frozen. "Aren't you? You wouldn't tell me what it was, so I went looking." He glanced at his father's desk, certain now he could make out the name _Potter_ on the file's side. "That, Dad," Theo continued, gesturing to it. "What is that? What are you—"

"What exactly would I be hiding from you?" Nott Sr grunted defensively, folding his arms over his chest. Theo was relieved to see his attention shift from the door back to Theo himself, though it was only marginally comforting. "Honestly, Theodore, I think you should see the doctors again. If you've stopped taking your medications again—"

"Harry," Theo announced suddenly, not sure why it was the first thing out of his mouth until after the name had already leapt from his tongue. "You—you know something about him, don't you?" Theo watched, curious, as his father immediately reeled from the impact of the question, half-stepping backwards. "I was—I was looking for something. I don't know what. Something to prove it. You said you were protecting me," Theo registered, the realization exploding behind his eyes like sunspots. "Why did you bring him here? You chose him for a reason, I take it. What was it?" Genuine curiosity propelled him closer, his combative step forward met with retreat from his father. "Why Harry?"

Nott Sr's gaze cutaway. "Theodore—"

"Dad. If there's something I should know, I should know it. Now." Theo glared at him, conjuring all his weapons of intimidation and aiming without remorse. With the way his father's spine was folded in conflict, Theo was the taller adversary, glowering down as he slid the words through his teeth. "I'm not a child, Dad. I'm not an idiot. Tell me what it is."

"It's—" Nott Sr swallowed. "It's complicated. I don't think I can explain it to you, Theodore. I barely know myself."

"Start with what you do know, then. You chose Harry on purpose," Theo determined brusquely, and his father didn't bother to deny it. "Was it his name? Did you recognize his name from something?"

Nott Sr's mouth twitched. "Yes."

"He has money, right?" Theo asked, and Nott Sr looked up. "He's the heir to some hair product fortune. Is that it?"

At that, Nott Sr transitioned unhelpfully from nervous to bewildered. "What? I don't—I don't know. It's not—it's not about money, or—"

"Then who is he?" Theo demanded, and Nott Sr flinched, retreating another step.

"He's—" A pause. Hesitation. "It's not easy to—"

"Tell me," Theo snapped, and his father bristled.

"He's the son of James Potter," his father said, forcing it out, and Theo frowned.

"What about him? Who's James Potter?"

"He's—" Nott Sr's voice broke. "He _was_ ," he exhaled, "a graduate student of mine. Former student. Same age as—" Another swift exhale. "Same age as your mother. They were in the same year, collaborating on a manuscript. They were—they were both—"

He hesitated again, faltering, and Theo fought an impatient groan.

"What?" Theo demanded. "They were what, involved? Is this some kind of romantic revenge thing?"

"What? Of course not," Nott Sr snapped. "Theodore, why would I—"

"Yes, Dad, why _would_ you?" Theo pressed brusquely. "Who cares if Harry's the son of your former student? What does James Potter have to do with anything?"

Nott Sr chewed his lip.

"You've spoken to Harry, right? Not just small talk. You've discussed his interests, his—beliefs. Yes?"

Theo nodded warily.

"Has he ever said anything about…" Nott Sr hesitated. "About magic?"

Theo carefully uncurled his fists.

"No," he persisted stonily. "Why would he? That's fucking stupid, Dad."

"I just—" Nott Sr let a sticky, frustrated growl emerge from the back of his throat, his hands suddenly stiff. "I just wanted to make sure he wasn't—that he wasn't like James. Curious like James was. His essay, his work sample, I thought maybe—" Nott Sr fell back in his chair, leaning forward to brace his hardened cheekbones against the lines of his hands. "I thought he might know something. Harry. James, he'd been onto something—he'd had this theory, he and your mother. They worked on something. It was—" he exhaled shakily. "It was supposed to be an academic paper, but I never saw it. The next thing I knew they were dead. Gone."

Theo's pulse stopped.

Restarted.

Raced.

"You said Mom died giving birth to me," Theo accused hoarsely, and his father glanced up, his expression coldly vacant.

"Easier to tell a kid that than to tell him his mother died looking for something that didn't exist," Nott Sr said harshly. "Do you really think I could have told you that she—that _they_ , she and James, they—"

"Potter's parents were murdered," Theo remembered aloud, and Nott Sr flinched again. "Was Mom?"

"I don't know." Nott Sr pulled at his sunken cheeks, leaning back in his chair to let a decades-old weariness flood every fold of his features. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? What the fuck does that _mean_ —"

"She was just—she was dead. She was just _dead_." His father was rocking back and forth now, looking more than a little disturbed. "No pulse, no breath, but no weapon. No exit wounds, no blood. Her hand was empty, but her fingers were broken. Like something had been taken from her. Like something had been _forced_ from her hand."

"What was the paper about?" Theo demanded, stepping closer to his father. "The research. You were their advisor, weren't you? What were they writing about?"

Theo felt it wasn't the time to bring up that his father had married his own grad student, or to question his methods of advisement. Academic ethics were clearly going to have to wait.

"This—cup. They thought it was the holy grail." Nott Sr looked up slowly. "They thought the grail was real, altered so as to hide its true purpose, indicative of something bigger. Of magic itself. Does that sound familiar?" he asked suddenly, and Theo held his breath as his father locked eyes with him. "Does that sound familiar, Theodore?" he repeated, and brought his hand to his mouth, tracing shaking fingers over his bottom lip. "She said it was magic, she said she was sure, she said she was certain and then it was gone, and she was gone, and James and his wife, _gone_ —"

"Dad." Theo reached out, gripping his father's wrists. "Dad. I thought—Dad, you—"

"I don't think you're crazy, Theodore." His father looked up, blinking at him, and Theo saw a blankness, an uncertainty he'd never seen before. "I think you're like her. I think you're like _him._ Like James. They lost themselves, Theodore. They lost themselves. They went looking for something that didn't exist. If that cup, that—that _Hufflepuff_ cup was the grail, it was probably stolen for the value of it, the two of them killed to keep them quiet. Three." His father leaned forward, closing his eyes. "I always forget about the other one. Lily. He has her eyes." Nott Sr jerked his head, abstractly referencing Harry. "He has her eyes, even though he looks just like James. And you look like your mother. And this is—"

"Dad." Theo sharpened his voice, angling it down at his father's head like the blade of a knife, or the edge of a sword. "Dad, you don't sound well. You don't sound well at all."

"Theodore, listen to me." His father's hazel eyes went wild. "Theodore, stay away from him. He has madness in his blood, and so do you. He'll get himself killed, get _you_ killed. Stay away from him, Theo, I'm trying—I'm trying to protect you—"

"You should see Pomfrey," Theo cut in. "She can get you, I don't know. Valium. Xanax. Something." He paused, folding his arms over his chest, and reveled in his momentary superiority, even if it was intensely false. "I think you're a little worked up, Dad."

Nott Sr looked up, startled. "What? But I—"

"You know, I actually think _you're_ starting to sound a little crazy," Theo interrupted coldly, and a stiff, rigid silence fell around them both, punctuated only by the sound of his father's ragged breathing, the motion of his chest. "I think you should probably lie down, Dad."

For a moment, Nott Sr nodded dumbly, staring into nothing.

"It's not real," he said firmly. "It isn't. There's a better explanation."

"Of course it isn't," Theo permitted drily, easing his father to his feet. "Just go take something, Dad. Lie down. You'll feel better."

"Theodore," Nott Sr said, his breath hitching. "Theo, I only want to protect you. I'm only trying to protect you."

 _I bet you tried to kill her magic_ , Theo wanted to say, but didn't.

"I know," he said instead, and then his father wandered through the doorframe, heading dazedly into the corridor. He looked lost, Theo thought; as lost as Theo had so often felt, which he couldn't help but find refreshingly apt.

Even if he had other things to think about.

Behind him, Theo processed the sound of the storage door opening, and then the sound of Harry's footsteps quietly padding towards him.

Harry's hand rested on Theo's shoulder, smoothing itself across the blade. The sun from Nott Sr's many windows caught on the edge of the sword, and the light from Excalibur—or whatever it was—flashed in Theo's eyes, momentarily blinding him.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

His voice sounded strangely hollowed out.

"Who are you really?" Theo managed after a second, his own voice flat and sanded down, and when Harry inhaled sharply, Theo turned, meeting his eye.

"I have no idea anymore," Harry murmured, his hand tightening around the hilt of the sword.


	7. Cast Me Away

**Chapter 7: Cast Me Away**

They said almost nothing as they walked the path to the Shack. The steps were familiar, the distance the same as it always was, but the woods looked different in the afternoon light than they usually did; it seemed the trees curved mournfully along the path now, reaching tenderly towards them.

Or perhaps it was Harry who was different now.

Theo opened the door to the shack—he had a way with locked doors, Harry noted; things never managed to stay locked around Theo Nott for long—and gestured Harry inside, opting to linger for a moment in the doorway. Harry, meanwhile, sank into the ragged old sofa, the upholstery torn apart after too many parties and too little care, and waited for words to come.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

 _u know somethign i think it actually rly sucks here_

Dudley, of course.

 _like do u ever get the feeling my mum and dad r like massive liars or psychopaths or smthng idk_

Harry sighed, exhaling the irony.

 _or something,_ he replied, and slid his phone back in his pocket, glancing up at Theo.

"Car crash," Harry managed eventually, and Theo looked up, frowning.

"What?"

"Car crash," Harry repeated. "That's what my aunt and uncle told me." He looked up, pained. "That they died in a car crash. I didn't—" he exhaled, eyeing his hands. "I didn't know." Then he frowned, glancing back up at Theo. "You knew something, though, didn't you?"

"Draco ran a background check on you," Theo supplied, clearing his throat. "I didn't ask him to, but he does a lot of things I don't ask for."

"Or don't have to ask for," Harry amended for him, and then reached up, rubbing wearily at the back of his neck. "Strange to think Draco Malfoy knows more about where I come from than I do."

"Makes me wonder if he ever ran a background check on me." Theo laughed sharply, though it didn't reach the rest of his face; it was more a brisk, relieving expulsion of sound than anything with meaning. "Bet he did. Bet he knew." Theo looked up from his hands, glancing over at Harry. "You have money somewhere, if you didn't know that," he ventured, changing the subject. "Your father was wealthy. Your grandfather was insanely wealthy. You must have a bank account somewhere."

"I don't know where," Harry mumbled, though he assumed Theo probably knew as much already.

"Draco could find out. Or Pansy. Or Daphne, actually, seeing as her father's the chairman of the board at Gringotts Bank." Harry looked up, surprised, and Theo's smirk twisted in agreement. "Yeah. They're scarily well-connected."

"Good thing they're your friends and not your enemies," Harry remarked, and Theo shrugged.

"Your friends too, if you wanted. If you needed." He shifted, sitting himself beside Harry, and stared out into the vacant space of the Shack's dilapidated living room. "You'll have to leave," Theo commented perfunctorily, holding his hands to his mouth. "You can't afford to wait. You've got a magic sword, Potter, and after what happened back there, I'm positive my father will check for it soon." Theo cleared his throat gruffly. "You probably shouldn't go back to Stonewall, either. My father will look for you there, and he can get you expelled, so—"

"You told your father magic didn't exist," Harry cut in neutrally, and Theo let out a sound that was mostly a scoff, though Harry thought it had elements of wistfulness.

"Yeah, well, I'm a liar. A fake." Theo turned, smiling bitterly at Harry. "And to think, a little more time spent with you and I might have been something else. A hero. A wizard." The muscle tightened around his jaw. "Might have managed to be _something_ , at least."

Harry looked over, eyeing the familiar shape of Theo's silhouette.

"Come with me," Harry said, and its effect on Theo's placid expression was jarring, all his sharpened features contorted with surprise.

"What? But—"

"I know what this is," Harry confessed. "I know it, I've always known it." Silence. "I can't go backwards, Theo. I can't unbelieve in magic. I can't unmeet you. I can't go back to a life where I don't know what it feels like to hold Excalibur in my hands, just like I can't unknow what you taste like, what you feel like—"

A sharp inhale. Harry waited, cataloguing the signs.

Theo merely blinked, his mouth parting around something that seemed to be processing too slowly inside his impossible brain.

"What are we?" Harry asked quietly, and when Theo didn't answer, he let the sword drop to the floor, twisting himself around to take Theo's face in his hands. "Theo. What are we?"

"I love you." Harry heard the words and processed them slowly, too slowly, as slowly as Theo had just seconds ago, before he replayed it fast and slowed it down again, letting the words drip through his soul like honey. "I can't unlove you, Harry."

"Then don't," Harry growled approvingly, dragging his thumb across Theo's lips. "Then don't. What are we?"

"We could die," Theo informed him neutrally, clearly not listening. "You heard my dad. We don't even know what actually killed our parents. We don't know what possessing a magic sword could do to us. And what about the paper they were writing? That—that _cup_ , or—"

"What are we?" Harry repeated gruffly, shoving Theo back on the sofa and waiting for the inevitable sting of Theo's fingers on his hips, for the unerring meanness of his touch.

"I'd die with you," Theo informed him deliriously. Harry dropped his chin and Theo kissed him, wrenching Harry's head back to slide his lips along Harry's neck. "For you. Because of you. Whatever. Nothing ever seemed worth doing until you." He slid the words between kisses, between the vacancies of his teeth. "Until you, I swear, there was nothing."

A relatable sentiment, Harry thought, but couldn't speak, couldn't slow down. Theo's nails clawed into his spine and Harry channeled years of torment and confusion and vast, wild emptiness into the pressure of his hips against Theo's, into the promise of undying fealty he spilled from his lips.

"What are we?" Harry muttered, his hands tight on Theo's collar, and this time Theo yanked Harry's head towards him, his lips next to Harry's ear.

"We're fucking _magic_ ," Theo said, and then he reached down to heft the sword upwards in his left hand, filling the old shack with a piercing, blinding light.

* * *

Theodore Nott Senior walked slowly from his son's empty bedroom back to his office, channeling his weariness into each step. At this age, his knees were starting to bother him; to stridently wail and creak, just like the old familiar stairs in the castle he couldn't bear to leave. He paused, resting a hand against the aged stone, and raised his free hand to his forehead, knowing what the old caretaker was going to say even before he said it.

"Potter's not here either," Filch grunted. "Gryffindor Tower's empty."

"His things?"

"Gone."

Most of his son's things were gone, too.

"Thank you, Argus," Nott sighed, resting a hand fraternally on Filch's shoulder. "I'm sure Theodore will be back soon."

He wouldn't, of course.

Theodore Nott knew his son.

He knew Theo was never coming back if he could help it.

He barely registered the walk into his classroom, nor the one up the narrow stairs of his storage room. It was harder than he remembered; the steps were steeper, the distance longer. The lights flickered on and the room was dustier, less inviting, and just as haunted as it always was.

He paused by the door, entering the digits of the day he'd last seen his wife ('3-1-1-0,' each impact more punishing than the last, but still the only series of numbers he would never conceivably forget) into the hidden alarm system and disabling it, aiming himself towards the sword.

He wasn't sure what about the sword had called to him. He'd procured it as a special favor, from one academician to another, but he'd always hidden it away. It was worth a fortune, obviously, so it wasn't exactly impractical to have done so, but there was something else about it. Something eerie, and it flashed in grim, bitter welcome now, blinding him momentarily as he reached for the hilt and picked it up, glancing over the blade.

It felt the same as it had when he'd first picked it up. The same give, same mobility, same heft—all words he'd used to describe it back then, despite not knowing what damn impractical purpose he'd ever have for a fucking sword. It still shone exactly the same, the rubies glittering precisely as he remembered, and it had precisely the same eerie feeling.

Perhaps even eerier, if that were possible.

Nott shifted, about to put the sword away and consider filing police reports (and canceling credit cards and cell phone service, too, though Theo certainly knew enough amoral rich children who'd sort that out for him) when he suddenly paused, something on the blade catching in the light. He eyed it closely, recognizing the script; the spindly handwriting he'd seen so many times.

He froze, disbelieving, but once he'd convinced himself that it was not, in fact, a trick of the light, he started to laugh, his faulty knees almost collapsing beneath him as he convulsed first in hysterical peals of mirth, and then in bitter, painful choked-out sobs.

This was not the sword he had purchased.

Though it _was_ a perfect forgery, and its one flaw was obviously not a flaw at all.

Theodore Nott stepped back and stared down at it; at the sword that was a consummate lie, just like its creator.

Then he put the sword away and turned, resetting the alarms and replacing everything just as it had been, except for one thing: he turned the blade of the sword on the opposite side, allowing one word to catch in the dim fluorescent light of the small, cramped storage loft.

One word; a final message from his son.

' _Lumos_.'

Then Theodore Nott turned out the light and went to sleep, leaving the police reports behind.

* * *

 _ **FIN**_

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _This story means a lot to me, and I thank you immensely for reading. If you take nothing else from it, a final reminder:_

 _Your crazy is your magic._


End file.
